


Careless Whispers

by wordstowords03



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, America, Asgard, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feels, First Love, First Time Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Germany, Jötunn Loki, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Feels, Love, Marvel Comics - Freeform, Marvel Universe, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Oral Sex, Professor Loki, Romance, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstowords03/pseuds/wordstowords03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While indulging in a quaint hiking expenditure before college, Paige finds herself compelled by a lulling voice and into a tunnel filled with an imminent, golden statue. In a lapse of judgement, Paige stumbles against the statue and experiences a sharp pain in her collarbone that swelters until she begins college months later. Walking into class day one, she finds herself infactuated by Professor Laufeyson's regal gaze, and sets the stage for the unfathomable warping of lies, betrayal, and tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Loki fic. EXCITED! Will edit this at length later.

“Paige! Paige—ouch, damn it—will you slow down?” Samantha reached down to soothe the burning ache that coiled through her forearm, extracting the grainy piece of mountainous debris that pierced her flesh. A shrill giggle echoed through the cave, mocking Samantha in her efforts to rally up with her zealous hiking partner.

“Maybe you just need to keep up, Sam!” Samantha grumbled noncommittally and thrust herself through the cavernous dwelling. With a few strategic turns and twists—and more than a few colorful, inventive curses—the sluggish adventurer had met up with her friend, whom was stalled some off feet away, running her fingers experimentally against the sharp, jagged edges of the cave wall.

“Jesus,” Sam wheezed, doubling over and straddling her hands atop wobbly knees. “We’ve been at this for hours and I don’t think I’ve seen you take more than a sip of water! How are you _not_ exhausted?”

“Swimmer’s endurance,” Paige replied, amused by her flailing friend who rather exemplified a fish let out of the water, >

“Yeah—that must be it…. Whew. Damn, I’m too old for this. Next time we’re going to Paris! That way, you can’t lure me into these haphazard suicide missions—we’ll eat baguettes and sip coffee—oh God, coffee…. Where’s a steaming Pike Place when you need one?” Sam ran two pale hands through her dampened red tresses and blew out an enduring breath, her heart hammering happily in her chest once more. Her eyes seek Paige’s, sardonic as ever: “Say, think we can start a petition to place a Starbucks in to the midst of one of Germany’s mountain ranges?”

Paige laughed, the omission buttery and wholesome. A grin tugged over her full, pink lips. “Stop being such a godawful baby and get off your ass! You can grab a Starbucks when we get back to the states!”

“But that’s 3 days away…” Samantha whined, righting herself and heaving her limbs back into commission. She knew that Paige was insufferable; the only way to put an end to this madness and slip back to the hotel was to indulge in her little expedition. Paige urged Sam forth, the pair chattering contently, finally pacing with one another. Sam’s eyes suffered through the hallows of the mountain, the rays of light omitting from her flashlight skittering amongst the works of hundreds of years of mass build up. Hiking the German Mountain Range had been Paige’s idea—what _wasn’t_ Paige’s idea?—and Sam, being the indulgent fool she was, had allowed herself to be talked into her scheme! Although, Paige _had_ endured Sam’s notions throughout most of the trip—the laborious castle tours, the Cathedrals, the haunted hollowness that was Auschwitz—she owed her friend a turn in the festivities! All things considered, this was their last summer of freedom before they both set off to college, bound by tight leather book bindings and suffocating lecture halls; they both ought to have their share in mishaps and adventures. And with Paige… Sam scoffed silently to herself. One never knew what to expect.

Paige plucked a pamphlet from her jacket pocket, poising her lithe flashlight between her teeth and angling her head inquisitively towards the information scrawled afore her. Sam steadied a hand against her friend’s shoulder, flickering aside her bobbling blonde ponytail to peer at the pamphlet herself.

“That’s strange.” Paige muttered between clenched teeth, her eclectic cerulean eyes skimming through the daft light of the cave. “This recollects no presence of a second opening.”

Sam followed her gaze to the division of paths in front of them; two gaping holes spanning left and right, drawing upon the two to choose a destination. “Are you sure we entered the right cave?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “No, Sam—I just selected a random entrance and moseyed on in! What kind of idiot do you take me for?” Sam went to open her jaw before being met by Paige’s sardonic hiss. “Don’t answer that.”

After a moment’s more of contemplation, Sam let out a disgruntled rasp. “Well, what way do we choose? Maybe someone did a miscalculation or, the land shifted or I don’t know!”

“I’m not su—“ Whatever Paige was bound to say was put to an abrupt end. A piercing shriek bit through the chamber, drilling into Paige’s ear. “The hell!” She managed before cupping both hands over her ears, desperate to block out the putrid noise that ravaged through her mind.

“Paige!” Sam yelled worriedly, propositioning her light to focus on her friend’s distressed form. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t hear you!” Paige gasped, the cries eeking into her throat and constricting her air supply. The sound was absolutely maddening! Her eyes sought Sam’s desperately, amazed that she hadn’t fallen victim to the deplorable sound that wretched through the cave. “That sound!” She screamed, succumbing to her knees. “DO YOU HEAR IT? THAT SOUND?”

Sam’s eyes bulged in her willowy features, her pale skin pulling taunt over her protruding cheekbones and high, determined forehead. “I think you’ve got a touch of insanity from these caves, we need to get out of here!” She reached down and tugged on Paige’s defined forearm.

Paige barely registered her friend’s words, but quickly responded to her beckoning and rose to her feet, stumbling after her.

 _Do not leave._ A smooth, silky voice sauntered through her thoughts, muting the obnoxious shrieks that threatened her moments ago. _Are you not curious of what lies ahead?_  Paige’s heels dug into the dusty floor of the cave, ignoring the desperate pleas from an exasperated Sam. Where was that voice coming from?

Her ponytail clung to her sweat slicked neck, along with the varied dirt and grime that accompanied her trek through the Germanic cave. Paige batted at it incessantly, desperate to free herself of the unease that accompanied her sticky posterior. Her hands uncovered her ears, one shimmying down to clasp her broad chin, rubbing it contemplatively—a horrendous habit she’d procured over the years. _I never thought I’d succumb to hearing voices._ She thought incredulously, only half-joking. _I’m going crazy!_

She fumbled back a few steps, turning towards a frantic Samantha before pausing, a sudden chill stirring the burning, compacted air of the tunnel.

 _Foolish you are not, dear one._ The voice soothed down her tense body, unfurling the doubt that coalesced her thoughts; the thoughts aimed towards reality, towards Sam. _Come closer._ Instinctively, Paige drew backwards, thudding into the cave wall, the jagged edges shredding through the flimsiness of her blouse. _No harm shall come to you; not from my hand, little one. Come closer, indulge your curiosity. You cannot deny the compellation that sears through your lungs, your soul—come forth, child._

“I am not a child!” Paige quipped in irritation. She didn’t know who and the hell this voice was but, he was certainly slithering under her skin and setting ablaze the temper she fought so desperately to deter.

_A matter of perspective, perhaps._

Paige scoffed, Sam all but forgotten in her tireless rant with whatever dweeb taunted her from the darkness. In respite, Paige forged forward, compelled towards one of the tunnels that parted in the midst of cave, her boots thudding determinedly against the rocks and dirt that encompassed the cavern floor. The further she walked, the greater the coolness became until her body was enveloped in an eerie, glistening blue glow. The glow grew more vibrant as she shuttled into the left tunnel, barreling towards the voice that ridiculed her so.

 _Mmmmm…_ Paige nearly paused the reverberation that fondled through her body, harnessing primitively in her core. _You smell delectable, dear one. Ah, the divinity of your soul calls to me! Closer, closer…_

Paige’s eyes flew to the gaping statue that lingered in front of her, every bit 9 feet tall, devouring the solemn space of the tunnel. The statue was golden, glossy and imminent. Paige scampered to the statue out of obligation, reaching out to skirt her fingers along the finer edges of the gold, but ceasing the notion as she took breadth of what truly loomed before her.

The statue was a man; a man of prestige and dominance, it radiated from the figure as the sun omits heat. Her heart leap against her ribcage, her history enamored spirit held captive to the significance the statue harbored. A God perhaps? Paige rifled through her pockets, seeking another pamphlet—something she’d procured several days ago in a quaint town off of Munich. The pamphlet spoke of pagan rituals; worshippers that followed Viking traditions and Gods. Could this be such a God? Paige took note of the offerings that surrounded the impending statue; of the old variety and the new.

“A God?” Paige muttered, more to herself than the voice that had swam about her head moments ago. “No God of mine.”

 _Humans._ The silky voice scoffed indignantly, his earlier seduction lost in his new, scolding tongue. _So ignorant. To believe in one God is foolish; one dimensional. There are whole worlds to implore; realms beyond the wildest hairs of your imagination. Yet, you choose not to look past the long slope of your nose. Pity._

“There is only one God.” Paige affirmed, the prominence of her childhood beliefs wallowing thickly through her blood. “I won’t be tempted by your notions of right and wrong; you’re a figment of my imagination—nothing more—and I refuse to listen to some physco ramblings. Be gone!”

The voice chuckled wholesomely, bemused to the highest order. _As you command, dear one._

Paige challenged the voice twice more, finding that it indeed was a conjuring of her min, no doubt the influence of the cave. Either way…. Paige eyes the statue in front of her, curious. She whipped out her iPhone and snapped a few photos, angling herself expertly and careful not to disrupt the precious artifact of history. When she returned to the states, the phots would be stapled to her vacation memoirs and shuffled into a pile of tireless historical tirades.

Smiling triumphantly, Paige maneuvered her phone back into her pocket and leapt down from the rock she’d precariously been teetering off of, using it to capture her picture to her perfection. In satisfying her reckless self-fulfilling prophecy, Paige slipped, tumbling off the rock and barreling directly into the lap of the standing, golden statue. Upon grazing the figure, her body trembled, sieged by an abrupt rapture of agony. Her collarbone warmed with a shocking intensity and biting into her flesh, like a snake’s long, menacing fangs into its prey. Paige clutched the tender skin desperately and ran off from the statue, frightened and shaken. A dim laughter followed her evacuation, slithered through her mind. _Mine…_

In moment, Paige found herself gasping at the cusp of the tunnel, a worried Sam doting at her shoulder. Her sultry hazel eyes were redden with tears.

“OhmyGod! You freak, why’d you run off like that?” She shrieked, wiping wary strands of blonde back from her friend’s slickened forehead.

“I-I-I h-heard s-creaming and then I-I-I….” Paige huffed and finally managed to spew the past few moments of inquiry, detailing her on the lingering voice and the captivating statute through the tunnel. “I fell into it and some blasted mosquito must have gotten me or something, hell.”

Sam shook her head and hoisted Paige to her feet. “I’m sure I’ve got something for it in the hotel room,” Paige nodded. “I tried to come after you, you know but the tunnel it just—it capped off. It was like an invisible fortress or a wall of some sort kept me from running after you—couldn’t see a damned thing either.”

Paige warded off her friend and scratched at her collarbone uneasily, unsure of what to make of her little mishap. “You don’t think it could be some old fangled magic voodoo, do you?”

Sam grinned, the notion scrunching her eyes into barely discernible slit of brown. “I dunno, Paige but it sure sounds like it; that or God has a strange sense of humor.”

“Yeah, humor.” Paige agreed, giggling with Sam as they disembarked from the cave, both eager to escape to the beaming sun.

Just at the mouth of the cave, a tremble forged it’s way down Paige’s spine, a forgotten whisper trailing behind her as her eyes laid of the billowing wisps of grass that lolled about the German countryside.

_Mine… All mine._

 


	2. Norse 101

“They always say the first semester is the hardest.” Paige consoled her friend, offering an encouraging pat on her shoulder.

“Hard—I was expecting. But mind numbingly boring is a completely separate standard,” Samantha whined, running a hand across her ornate binder. “Third class in and they never shut up, ever. This man just kept yammering on and on and on—who cares about your blind Beagle? Scrap that, who cares about your Beagle **period?”**

Paige giggled, a hearty omission, accompanied by a snort. “My Algebra professor just spent the last hour yammering on about his niece in a wheelchair—about how she got caught in a rainstorm while waiting in line at the fruit stand or something—do we still have fruit stands?” Samantha shrugged, accompanied by an ear splitting grin. “Anyways, by the end of the lecture, I felt the insatiable urge to find his niece, tip her out of her chair, and run away just so he’d have a new story to tell on Wednesday.”

“Now that’s cruel!” Samantha squealed, jabbing her quirky friend with the edge of her binder. “But admirable. You should make it one of your life goals—start a club.”

“Yes! We’ll dub it the official ‘Sabotage your Professor’s Niece’ club. Hazzah!” Paige grinned and continued her trek across campus, her eyes darting about to appreciate the divinity of college life. It was difficult to believe she’d cantered onto campus but a week ago, her Honda Civic filled to the brim with school supplies and the presumed ‘luxuries’ that accompanied a new college student. Samantha, as requested, was her roommate and the two quickly settled into a mutual pattern of bathroom times and Netflix binges. She was finally living the dream!

Or, as much of it as she _could_ anyways.

Paige was grateful her adoptive parents had so eagerly flipped the dime to send her to a lavish college in Virginia, fit with a beautiful atmosphere and fabulous amenities. The food was top of the line, the fellow college students relaxed, unique, and herded in varying groups and cultures.

Paige meshed in perfectly, or at least as perfect as she’d fit in at any other point in her life. Being thrust around to foster homes left it’s mark on Paige, wore her down, entrenched a few scars. Paige dealt with it as she did most matters that stumbled across her path: Head-on and determinedly. Before long, she’d procured a permanent home off the cusp of New Orleans, her “new” parents a weathered pair with a fortune amassed through insufferable years of farming and investments. Old money, the neighbors would whisper when they’d pass, hushed murmurs, urgent omissions. The LaMotte’s had offered Paige an extravagant home and introduced her to all the varieties of life that strolled through the Quarter. Yet, it seemed that despite the love they offered Paige: It was never enough. Oh, she tried—did she _ever—_ but her affections came up short each time. If she hadn’t stumbled across Samantha Freshmen year, Paige would have inevitably lost her mind.

“Now, this class may not be so bad.” Samantha reasoned, halting outside one of the lecture halls and gesturing down the lengthy front way. “Norse 101—one of the only colleges in America that offers this class. I wonder how packed this is going to be.”

“Hopefully crowded enough that we’ll all ace our papers because there are too many to grade.” Paige quipped, trotting down the hall to her next class. Samantha followed eagerly, once again finding herself in the wake of her friend’s footsteps.

“Ooh, don’t get my hopes up. You know how terrible I am at writing papers,” She groaned.

“It’ll be like every class we’ve ever taken together, then.” Paige teased, beaming at the disgruntled redhead beside her, muttering incoherently. “Me saving your ass.”

The pair cantered into Norse 101, Paige omitting a sharp gasp at the sheer volume of students that occupied the classrooms. Row after row students were pent up, settling their books, rocking in their chairs, whispering to one another in stride. Paige shoved down the “watched” sensation that trickled down every student’s spine when they passed through the front of the classroom, falling under the inquisitive and often hostile stares of her peers. Samantha and Paige positioned themselves on one of the higher rows of seats, shrouded from the gawk of the professor—ideal for murmuring and inspecting the handsome guys that toddled into the classroom.

Paige allowed her gaze to settle on the projector and the image it cast on the screen: the usual humdrum of greetings and course descriptions. Her sights dropped to the lectern where a decrepit old man stood or, er, _hunched_ over the wooden piece, his knobby fingers tip-tapping against the rim. He cast an irritable glance towards the clock and gestured for some unwilling student to shut the door. From there, he set forth on his laborious introduction. His hoarse, tinny voice ambled through the room, lulling the students into an ultimate state of boredom.

“Forget what I said earlier. Worst. Class. _Ever.”_ Samantha hissed, resigning to doodle on the pocket over her notebook, carefully weaving swirls and crooked lines. Paige snorted and whisked her pen across her friend’s notebook, meshing her patterns alongside her friend’s. “Hey—what’s that?” Sam struck through the silence, startling Paige from her mindless etchings.

“What?”

“You know—that?” Samantha’s pudgy finger struck to Paige’s recent scrawling: deeply charcoaled, billowy, entwining circles, mimicking the infinity insignia only the circles chased one another a bit more uniquely, whimsically. “Are those… snakes?” Paige peered closer at the drawing, cocking her head curiously to the side, propping her cheek against her shoulder. Where the loops of the insignia traced themselves were small, reptilian heads, seemingly devouring one another. Paige thought it odd to draw such a thing. Just a mindless doodle, right?

“I don’t know.” Paige smirked at Sam’s perplexed expression, her rosy brows drawn together in question. “Must have picked it up somewhere.”

“What? On the cover of Dungeons and Dragons?” Paige drew her hand over her mouth to hold captive a chortle.

Suddenly, the classroom stilled and all eyes shifted towards the front of the room. Paige and Samantha weathered a sheepish glance, assuming themselves caught, and bowed their heads inquisitively towards their feeble professor. Only, the professor’s gaze was fastened on the newly ajar classroom door, a lithe woman hobbling through.

“Pardon my interruption.” She offered her audience a radiant smile, climbing atop the raised platform to accompany the professor, gently caressing his shoulder with her hand. “Good Afternoon, all! I’m Dean Richards, you may have seen me at orientation,” The class acknowledged her with scattered grunts and echoes. “We seem to have made a scheduling error—oh no, please! Don’t fret! Your classes are still intact!” She proclaimed hurriedly, sensing the unrest unfurl about the room. “Merely a staffing fluke. Professor Aldehyde will no longer be instructing this course.”

Paige tittered enthusiastically in her chair. _This is just too lucky._ Sam shot her a look that all but professed her own thoughts.

Professor Aldehyde let out a noncommittal groan and shrugs, already staggering towards the door. Dean Richards eyes him bemusedly before continuing, her tawny orbs glistening under the lights of the podium. “Without further ado, I am privileged to acquaint you with your new teacher, all the way from Oxford—Professor Laufeyson!”

Samantha gasped, all but rocketing out of her seat. A contented sigh raked over the women in the stands. Paige cursed as her collarbone adapted a vehement burning; primitive and seizing.

“Forget everything I’ve said today just—just forget it!” Samantha drooled, oblivious to the writhing friend beside her. “This is going to be the _best_ semester known to mankind. Oh. My. God.”


	3. Slithering Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of Loki's identity imagine his hair shorter, cropped. It's merely an facade and his hair will change later on. Love the Loke!

Paige weathered a wary glance around the classroom, her eyes glossy from the agony that nibbled about her collarbone. Seemingly of it’s own accord, Paige’s fingers probed her skin gently, thoroughly. Upon the touch, small flames devoured her fingertips, licking and probing. Her eyelids tittered uncertainly, straddling the impasse between agony and faint pleasure. _Pleasure?_ Paige’s sandy eyebrows drew taunt with uncertainty. It was sadistic to draw enjoyments from such primitive, stinging sensations, wasn’t it? Paige clawed at her collarbone desperately, as if to eradicate herself from such a disease but ceased the struggle when a tentative throat clearing resounded from the front of the classroom. Paige chanced a glance a Sam—blissful, her eyes bulging precariously from their anatomical confines—before she laid attention to the new human being that occupied the podium.

“Christ,” Paige breathed, nearly flinching at the raw desperation of her voice.

Dean Richards bowed her head in respect to the newcomer whose lithe, elegant body slinked behind the lecture, enrapturing the audience with a bravado that the imagination did little to incite. The woman’s lips blurred, spewing words, phrases, sentences but Paige only sought the hallowed, chiseled cheekbones of the divinity of the man beside her. The man paid little mind to the woman’s prattle and instead stood unnervingly erect, his slender hands drawn inquisitively behind his back, calculatingly. His chin—pointed, blunt—jutted indignantly into the air, moving with his head from time to time in agreement to the professions of the Dean. His eyes—Paige couldn’t decipher any one color not from this height, not from this seat… Instantly, Paige withdrew her hands from her collarbone and sank tactfully forward in her seat, anxiously anticipating the enticing beam of her professor, lest it never come. And with the moments that passed, it seemed it never would.

Dean Richard’s final words shimmied punctured Paige’s reverie, “I bid you all a fantastic semester,” she smiled, unveiling a dazzling display of polished canines. “Professor Laufeyson, you know where to find me should a problem arise.”

“Why, of course Lady Richards,” he purred, his voice as nascent and compelling as velvet. Paige—along with every other living, breathing female in the room—pent up a clawing, nagging sigh. “You have been of unrivalled assistance. I extend my utmost gratitude.” With an almost theatrical flourish, he captured one of the Dean’s hands in his palm, pressing a chaste kiss to the translucent underbelly of her wrist. The aged woman blinked and tersely stumbled from off the podium, touching her wrist absently as she scurried from the room, no doubt humiliated by the scarlet that drifted to the surface of her cheeks.

Several students shifted in their seats at the hasty departure of Dean Richards while others merely gathered their wits and leaned over to their neighbor, hissing in each other’s ears, secrets untold. Sam, indeed, was one of these victims: “Do you see him? Do you SEEEEE him?” Paige huffed indifferently, shrugging at her friend’s smothering ardor.

“He’s our new professor, of course I SEEEEE him.” Paige waved carelessly in his direction. “Best to smile at the man who holds our fate in his hands for the next 16 weeks.”

“No problem here!” Sam proclaimed perkily, her lips stretching a mile wide, taunting the puffy clouds that were her cheeks. Paige however, drew difficulty in smiling for, her collarbone still throbbed—a beacon of discomfort. Sam yammered on excitedly anyways, eliciting small comments from time to time before Professor Laufeyson cleared his throat before the class, sultry intones slithering into Paige’s ear, gliding about her shoulders. Paige’s eyes flickered to her feet, desperately hoping no one bore witness to the shiver that rippled through her body.

“Good Morning,” He began. “I am unsure as to what length your prior professor divulged his expectations. Nevertheless, as of this point, such rules are moot.” Paige’s shimmering orbs narrowed in assessment, focusing on the raven tresses that drew over his head. The locks were well kempt, clean, close to the neck. If Paige hadn’t known any better, she’d of thought he once had longer hair, more esteemed. It would suit him, after all. Long, wavy locks that beckoned to his shoulders, the shoulders in which wore an elegant black tailored suit, fine. He wore a sort of silky vest beneath it, a deep, brilliant emerald that beckoned from even the highest rafters of the classroom. “From now on, there shall be no technology permitted in my presence; all notes will be taken by hand, in pencil. No exceptions.”

The class grumbled their disapproval but did not take the Professor’s words lightly. The students packed away their cell phones and laptops expeditiously and made quick work to reach for pencil and paper. Professor Laufeyson wasted no time in his dissertation: “This class will work efficiently, if I so assign an unreasonable due date; you shall meet it. If I order you to so memorize every Norse God, Goddess, Herald, and creature this evening, you shall do it with no complaint. No extensions will be granted under _any_ circumstances.” Sam sucked in a sharp breath beside her, alright twitching her pencil over the crisp, clean pages of her binder to slip a note to the ever skeptical blonde at her side, observing the Professor with keen interest.

Professor Laufeyson grinned at the appalled silence of his audience, his eyes scrunching almost manically. He crossed his hands behind his back and began pacing timidly before the class, turning with a flourish whenever he reached the end of his platform.

“Every paper I assign will be handwritten and must meet the minimum requirement of 800 words; I will count each and every word individually and record any deviations from the assigned topic.” He raised his hands in an outwardly gesture, his palms facing out towards the crowd. “It is little of which I ask of you, but detrimental to your success in this subject.”

Paige jerked at the sharp probing at her elbow. Her fingertips skimmed the piece of torn parchment beside her, Samantha’s scrawl distinctive as ever:

_Super hot; major asshole. How are we going to hand write 800 words?_

Paige hurried her reply:

_Talk about archaic. At least he’s—_

“Shit!” Paige’s pencil leapt from her grasp, clattering to the floor as if someone had slapped her hand. In fact, Paige noticed with grave astonishment, as she turned the back of her right hand, the flesh was a rosy pink.

The classroom stilled. Paige puckered her lips, her vibrant blue eyes alight with embarrassment. To her displeasure, the lecture hall had swiveled in their desks, evident by the distinct cricketing of wood and bolts. Paige stiffened upon the steely cool she felt graze her face, her eyes hesitantly drawing to meet the most challenging stare of them all.

Professor Laufeyson’s very essence bore into Paige’s resolve. He smirked mischievously, knowingly and stowed his hands behind his back. Although inclined at a significant distance, Paige could decipher the intimidating emerald of his irises, their divine probing gnawing at her core, her _being._

“Is there a problem?”

Green—emerald—green. Grass. Summer. Solace. She could envision the ripples in such a meadow, the brash persuasion of the wind forcing the blades of green to and fro, the least bit kind in it’s manipulation. Yet, such brutality was moving—significant. Paige leapt through the meadow, her knees buried the thick of the green, blonde tresses whipping, billowing. Free.

“Paige!” Sam hissed, probing her dazed companion in the ribs. “Paige—everyone is staring!”

“I—“ She was overwhelmed by such a vision. Paige whisked in a sharp breath as the stinging in her neck intensified, urging her to reply—compelling her to speak. “I—no. I’m sorry, I just nicked myself with my pencil.” She held up the object sheepishly, twiddling it through the air. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

The Professor chuckled, smugly. “Perhaps being more cognizant to your utensils shall help you to prevent further injury to yourself, hm?” The classroom followed in his footsteps, erupting into dispersed patches of giggles and chortles, light hearted and amused. The professor rightened his posture and returned to pacing, his eyes releasing their deadly hold on Paige’s, leaving her with a profound sense of abandonment. “In sum, if you so abide by my expectations then your accomplishments in this course shall be worthy of reward.” His voice thickened, adapting a sultry, oaken finish: “And I do so follow through with my rewards.” He gestured grandiosely with his arms, widespread and concluding. “You are all dismissed.”

Gradually, the class veered off into different directions, gathering their belongings, and treading to the door. Others stayed to chat, mostly women—giggling and unsubtly gesturing to the front of the classroom where Professor Laufeyson readied for his next lecture.

“Are you insane?” Sam gaped, her eyes fixated on Paige’s, wide and incredulous. “It was like you were possessed—are you feeling okay?” She schlepped a hand across Paige’s forehead theatrically, contorting her lips with mock concern.

“Wasn’t it you who practically drooled on herself when he walked through the door?!” Paige exclaimed, slapping off her companion’s hand. “I was just—I panicked. I’m not usually honed out in front of a crowd of people!”

“But it was hilarious!” Sam shrilled, tucking her binder in her elbow and handing Paige her belongings as they began trotting down the classroom stairs. “Except, you know, that I was sitting next to you. You got an almost dreamy look—like the Notebook or Dear John. By the way, how did you manage to cut yourself with a pencil?”

“Very carefully.” Paige allowed, rubbing her injured hand absently, the throbbing dulled now. “I honestly feel like the biggest idiot in the world,”

“Well, you are.” Sam affirmed. “Hey, you know what we should do tonight—“ The pair was crossing the lecture podium when Professor Laufeyson stepped before them, beaming brilliantly.

“Ladies,” he offered, his eyes fastening briefly on Paige. “May I have a word?”

Paige gulped. “Of course, Professor.” Sam offered her a weary glimpse and toddled out the door, promising to meet her in the dorms later.

“Sir—I am so sorry about my outburst earlier I didn’t mean to—“

“Silence, girl. It was no bother, I assure you.” Paige bristled at his tone but allowed him to continue nonetheless, desperately avoiding gazing into his eyes. “I merely wanted to affirm your wellbeing. I would never sleep soundly knowing one of my students was injured under my care. May I see your hand?”

“Oh no I just—“ She protested, waving her hand flippantly before the Professor snatched it midair, his eyes scrutinizing the appendage diligently. His fingers working between her own, seeking an injury.

“You seem to have healed miraculously, Miss.” He grinned, sly. “You ought to pay more attention to your actions. Concentration, awareness is success.” A knowing glint fluttered about his eyes as they devoured her resolve, a light sweat prickling the pores of her palms. With such nervousness and unease, she felt as if she were preparing for a swim meet; climbing atop the diving board and readying and plunge into frigid water. While not water, the Professor certainly was frigid, she noted, compelled by the pull of his gaze, stirred by his words.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

“Brilliant.” He made quick work of releasing her hand and instead lifted his head to survey the room, now emptied. “It will be a great honor to have you in my class.”

Thinking herself dismissed, Paige nodded and made for the door, desperate to still the incessant panging that jostled her heart. _I’ve got to get out of here._

“Oh and miss?” She halted, refusing to turn and slip back under his daunting gaze. “Look at me.” He snapped most testily, evoking Paige to turn and meet her superior, her brows taut over her eyes, now a belligerent blue. The two wills clashes against one another, a trickster against purity, whipping at one another in earnest, deliberation. “I never wish to hear such a vile words uttered in my presence again. The only exclamations I wish to hear are ones of pleasure,” His lips slithered slimily up the angular planes of his face, sharpening his cheekbones, enhancing the vibrancy of his eyes.

“Pleasure?” Paige quipped. “Is Norse that promising of a subject?”

“Oh, pet, you’d be only so fortunate to reap all the gratification that accompanies an education. Learning must be thorough work, slow, and measured.” Professor Laufeyson released a primitive chortle, deep and alluring. “Each lesson is a privilege, not a right.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” With that, Paige strut from the classroom, clinging to the remnants of her dignity. Her hand sought her abdomen tentatively as she struck up against the side of the hallways, making work to still her unnerved heart. _This semester is going to be hell._


	4. New Desire

“So are you finally going to tell me the truth or do I have to guess?”

Paige sighed and brushed by the ever demanding Samantha, desperately seeking a distraction from the truth—from anything.

“Guessing it is!” Sam exclaimed perkily, lifting a contemplative finger to her chin. “So did he chew you out? Deduct points from your average before the class even started? Or—oh—oh! He asked you on a date! And if he did—I won’t lie—I’m jealous.”

“How do you jump from damn near capital punishment to dating?!” Paige replied, vexed. The pair pushed their way to Norse 101, bickering all the while, Sam badgering Paige about her confrontation with Professor Laufeyson—as she had been the past 2 days. “I told you he only requested I be more careful in his class and don’t, you know, yell out obscenities.”

“Lame,” Sam tutted, walking backwards next to her blonde friend, her hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I think you’re lying.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” Paige snorted, shoving Sam by one of her shoulders, momentarily knocking her off balance. “You’re the liar extradonaire—or have you completely forgotten high school?”

Sam stretched her lips over her teeth, revealing a contradicting, coy grin. “See! That’s exactly how I know you’re lying; you can’t play the player, Paige.”

“Believe what you want.” Paige remarked, hastening her pace to class before Sam could divulge any more of her personal afflictions. While the Professor hadn’t formally romanced Paige and thrown her against a desk with raw passion; the way her body reacted was quite contradictory. Since Monday, her body had been a livewire; quivering and desperate. She’d never experienced such gratification, such merciless attraction and exhilaration. That evening she ventured to the pool and tackled lap after lap, her ribcage faltering, limbs flailing and yet it did null to eradicate the restlessness that churned in her stomach; the havoc that devastated her thoughts.

Then, of course, there was the distress of her collarbone.

It had stung in class, sure—but the real kicker was the purplish tinge that was beginning to edge about her skin, darkening to a bruise resembling mass. She’d noticed it after her swimming frenzy, her suit strap agitating the spot after each rotation and manipulation of her arms; each pull. She’d adopted conservative shirts from her wardrobe to mask the heinous wound.

 _Must have been some hell of a bug bite._ Paige fought the primitive urge to massage the spot, to soothe the prickling that randomly spurred and summoned tears to her eyes.

Sam and Paige entered the lecture hall abruptly, edging towards the seats they had previously occupied only to be foiled by the pair of men that lounged there, elbows propped on the other’s desk. Paige clicked her teeth and disembarked down the stairs, weaseling her way to the only pair of unoccupied seats. Front row and centered, a chill reaped it’s musings down Paige’s spine, filling her with doubts and ironic thoughts. _Just a coincidence._ She chided herself, content in her ignorance.

A coincidence that her desk seemed to align oh-so strategically with the upraised podium? Paige’s eyes scanned anxiously for the Professor, coming up dreadfully short. Of course he couldn’t orchestrate such a rouse! He wasn’t even there, nevertheless, assigning seats as if they were in some petty, juvenile Elementary classroom!

 _I’m delusional. Insane—I’m going insane._ She perched her elbow on her desk and propped her chin upon her upraised palm, her eyes seething towards the lecture podium. _I suppose there are worse things, though._

Students continued to settle and toddle in as Sam and Paige yakked on with companionable conversation. The room immediately blanketed in silence once the lecture hall door slammed and the Professor blinked in, appearing behind the lectern soundlessly. Paige, a tad appalled, turned to Sam with furrowed brows, expressing her discontent at his arrival. His transition between the door and the stretch to the podium was a blur—who was he—Barry Allen?

Sam shrugged and readied her pencil over her binder, heeding the words from his establishing dissertation. Paige made quick work to do the same, adjusting herself to observe the keen man before her.

Professor Laufeyson wasted no time with salutations or formalities, not even vexing himself to offer an introduction to the lesson. Instead, he fastened his mystifying green orbs on his audience and began a seamless transition into the world of the Vikings—describing Hel and Vahalla as his establishing remarks.

“These are the Norse resting places; heaven and hell to Midguardians,” The Professor clarified, his silken voice enveloping Paige’s ears, caressing her neck, ghosting about her blazing collarbone. “Polytheistic yes, but the Norse had clearly distinguished resting places, evolved for wrongdoing and pure deeds.”

Sam’s hand struck the air. Paige cast her a worrisome glance and paused her note taking, curious as to her friend’s gusty inquiry.

“Yes, Miss Kline?”

“You mentioned ‘Midguardians’—what does that symbolize?” Sam crossed her legs nervously under her chair, pressing her thighs together under the receptive gaze of her instructor. Paige also noticed the abrupt redness that filled her cheeks. “Given the context, I’m led to believe that Midguardians are humans but, weren’t the Vikings human, too? And we all believe in different religions; not everyone in this classroom identifies between a heaven and a hell.”

Nonplussed, Professor Laufeyson folded his hands behind his back as he stepped from behind the lectern and broadly strut across the front of the class, approaching the bar that separated the first row of seats and the main thoroughfare.

“Midguardians, my child, symbolize the people of Earth, collectively. There are nine realms—nine dimensions that thrive and live within their own devices and resources; some vast, some sparse—all of their own supply and needs. Norse Gods refer to Earthlings as the inhabitants of Midguard because they are believed to straddle the worlds between Asgard,” he explained, thorough. “Asgard is the home of the Gods; the Aesir.”

“So, the Aesir weren’t human?”

The Professor snorted, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “The Aesir are a far superior race than humanity, Miss Kline—they sustain longer lives and have endured for countless millennia.”

“Aesir? So these people are real?” A student interjected above Paige’s head, evoking murmurs of disagreement.

“Well yeah,” Another student replied, hoarse tones drifting over the audience. “Haven’t you seen Thor? Isn’t he supposed to be some kinda Norse mumbo jumbo?”

“Thor?” A female student shrilled. “Are we going to learn about Thor in here?”

“Thor as in the Avengers, Thor? Is that the same guy?”

“Yesss! Don’t you remember the New York incident? Or did you think the press was just having a field day for kicks?”

“New York? Seriously!?”

“Silence!” The Professor barked, summoning the audience to silence. Paige’s eyes widened at the sight of his anger contorted features, his cheekbones writhing to release pent up tension and vexation. “Outbursts will not be tolerated under my tutelage!” He raged, his eyes shadowed with a sudden savagery.

 _Classroom management is a touchy subject with him, evidently._ Paige mused, tracing the slim contours of his face, nibbling her lip in contemplation. _He does look insanely sexy when he’s all ruffled though. Oh God, why am I thinking this? He’d my Professor—I refuse to stoop to the level of Sam._

On queue, her collarbone seared to life beneath the swathing of her blouse, fire ambushing the spot tentatively. Her eyes fluttered up to the Professor that stood before Sam, his attentions suddenly fastened on the agony possessed Paige. He devoured her up and down for a moment, adapting a most predatory stance. The class had quieted by now, everyone heeding his command and probing the hostile environment surrounding. The Professor licked his lips, as if daring Paige’s composure to slip.

 _Irresistible, is it not?_ A foreign voice beckoned. Foreign? No—she’d heard that voice once before…. The cave, was it? No—the statue, the voices—not here, surely?

In her befuddled state, she’d sworn the Professor’s gaze had been directed to her for an unmanageable time, but, as it seemed, the class was oblivious—even the keen, ever observant Sam who sat quaintly in her seat, the tension in her thighs lessening as the Professor trotted away, backing up methodically, assessing.

Upon reaching the podium, his composure had been recollected, leaving Paige in utter exasperation, tittering on the edge of her seat. “Dear students, you’ve much to learn, as is your nature as Midguardians,” he declared congenially, waving a hand flippantly through the air. “I, however, am here to guide you, to lead you as you are all destined to be led. I will no longer tolerate any unwarranted questions or comments.” His sultry voice adapted a jagged edge, shattering the ease in Paige’s body and unwinding her innards, drawing her into attentiveness, excitement. “I hereby forbid the mention of the incident in New York and the Avengers. The mentioning of such will result in dire consequences—I will not condone the tainting of the mind with such bosh. New York never happened.” A sudden destitution enveloped the Professor’s eyes, the irises swirling with some resentment; failure. In that failure though, Paige sought an opportunity—a project. Perhaps this Professor withheld a truth—an integral part of his subject that coincided with New York and the Avengers. Something aboriginal, personal—something the University didn’t fund in their lectures.

Paige smirked in her seat, ignoring the dull stabbing sensation in her collarbone. From now on, she would develop a more genuine interest in her Professor—a curiosity. Curiosity made Paige bold, daring—untapped her fearless nature—a nature she’d suppressed for some time.

_A hell of a semester indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both sides established---let's turn up the heat, shall we?
> 
> **Also I just edited this haphazard chapter. Late night writing--which is pretty much all I do--tends to be questionable.


	5. Queens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO FOR ONE! YEEEEESSSS!

In the following weeks, Paige finally adapted to the havoc that was college. Between swim practices, social gatherings, her classes, and studying….. The lively blue eyed beauty was beat.

She’d made it a habit to devote a significant amount of time to studying for Norse 101. Laufeyson’s assignments were grueling at best, vigorous and time consuming. While the subject was fascinating and his teaching adept—if not a bit archaic—his execution of essays and note taking was tedious. Truly—he did account for each and every written word, as the thick of the class had discovered. Sam, despite her infatuation with the Professor, was suffering terribly, and convinced Paige to attend his allotted tutoring session with her.

“It’s not fair—you understanding everything and me not,” She pouted, raking the way to the Professor’s study. “Let’s trade minds.”

“Not a chance!” Paige shrilled. “Even so, I’m barely scraping by with a B at this point. Hopefully this tutoring session will be beneficial for me too.”

The pair beamed at one another and crossed their fingers, opening the hunk of wood that stood between them and their alluring Professor’s office. Paige stepped over the threshold first, her mouth agape upon her findings.

Professor Laufeyson’s office was suited with fineries. Before them was a grandiose showcase, glittering with awards and golden artifacts, paired by time period and country. To the right, a lavish emerald settee, the back drawn high, rimmed in gold, and the plush cushions occupied by two whispering students, hopelessly gesticulating at their texts, exasperated to the last. In the midst of the room were oval tables, spaced out and set with wooden chairs, all of which contained an able bodied student, eyebrows crinkled in concentration. The Professor himself slithered among them, probing at essays and pinpointing flaws. To the left, sat a polished, oak desk befit with paper and envelopes as well as a fascinating, primordial leather-bound book, engraved with—by Paige’s meager understanding—Nordic runes.

The Professor stiffened upon Paige’s arrival, his bewitching orbs locking on her instantaneously. The pair analyzed each other as they’d become privy to—both daring one another with primitive, inquiring glances. The Professor’s cheekbones jostled with the clicking of his tongue, summoning a flush of pink to Paige’s cheeks. He sought her demure with a captivating, contemptuous grin, showcasing a stunning set of teeth. Paige bit back an ironic remark and instead lead Sam to an unoccupied student table, furrowing her set of supplies and setting to work on the analysis of her textbook.

The prior lecture Laufeyson had yammered on about the values of Asgard, the customs of the Gods and the traditions that carried to Midguard in centuries past. He approached Midguard with such a superiority; as if he were an Aesir himself. At times, he’d even cast patronizing glimpses to his fleas and bleated out perplexed replies, as if it took the amassed strength of God himself to answer a proposed question.

 _Midguard—how strange it must have been for people to believe this. That we’re—that I’m—part of some elaborate stream of worlds._ Paige thought bemusedly, skimming her text frivolously. _Then again, what about Thor? Isn’t he some God?_ The blonde had gone out of her way to research the Avengers as of late, devoted to sorting out the mystery behind Thor and connect the dreadful illusion Professor Laufeyson projected whenever his name was rucked up in class, or in a passage. On the days when Thor’s name was most prominent, his teaching flourish hastened, and the students were burdened with a colossal pile of tasks to complete. The only information she’d been able to procure had been the usual humdrum of news clippings—the catastrophe of New York at the hands of Loki, Thor’s alleged brother.

Paige could not secure an image of the impending Loki for, there seemed to be a dead web page whenever she tried. So, she’d forgone the effort, just as she’d forgone the denying her obvious admiration towards her Professor.

He truly was brilliant, Professor Laufeyson—regal, cynical, cunning. She caught him from time to time, flitting amongst the other Professors after class, flashing arduous smiles and suggestive glances. Rumor had it that the suave man was dating Professor Lynn—a stunning English Literature professor that  fed the sexual appetite of nearly every man on campus. Paige herself was envious: lengthy, iridescent red tresses, pent up so professionally, accentuating rapturing azure eyes and demure eyelashes. The notion of the woman caused the purpling welt on Paige’s shoulder to intensify, to throb unnervingly.

Unbeknownst to Paige, Samantha had long conversed with Professor Laufeyson and had slipped from the study, mindful to maintain the eerie silence Laufeyson demanded in his presence. Paige thought it peculiar of her not to leave or note or merely bump her elbow, nevertheless, when she shifted her attentions from her text and back to reality, she was surprised to discover she was now the sole inhabitant of the room.

“How studious we are.” A silken voice cooed. Paige jerked to the left of the office where the Professor leaned against his desk, arms drawn afore him, hands clutched tightly together. “I must say, I am astonished to see you amongst my designated study period,” He angled his head inquisitively, emerald eyes narrowing.

“Honestly, I think I just needed an hour of silence to focus. Your subject can be quite overwhelming.” She spewed, reaching up to fasten the cotton holder that secured her blonde tresses in a flowing ponytail. “Overwhelming can be beneficial though, it helps me to learn with a newfound quickness. I discover that I retain more through your methods.”  

“You know little of my methods, girl.” The Professor chortled, embarking upon Paige’s table. “I could show you my methods—a lesson perhaps—to enhance your achievement.” The way he sauntered—the seductive insinuation of his hips, the subtle contraction of his abdominals beneath the silken confines of his shirt. Paige found her eyes roaming.

“I believe you once told me that lessons were a privilege.” Paige ventured boldly with her words, feigning off the smile that threatened to contort her lips. “I’m not sure I’m deserving, sir.”

The Professor’s eyes lit at the jab with challenge, authority. “I am to be to judge of that, Miss LaMotte.” His eyes slinked to the passage of her Norse text, the pages subject to his scrutiny. “You are intrigued by Asgard.” He observed, gesturing to the weathered pages purposely. “This is beyond my required reading, mind you.”

“I’m aware.” Paige replied testily, unappreciative of the admonishment in his tone. “I was interested in the Aesir, is all.”

“You may be enthralled by Friday's teachings, then.” His grin constricted to a meager quirk of the lips, revealing the tiniest bit of irony. “The occupation of the prestigious Gods and Goddesses; Kings and Queens of Asgard.”

“Frigga—she is the Queen of Asgard, isn’t she?”

Laufeyson fixed her with a reserved look and inclined his head silently. “I read about her—she seemed wholly sound, pure. How did she wind up with such a stiff like Odin?”

At that, Laufeyson chuckled, brash guffaws that echoed solemnly off the office walls and rang into Paige’s heart. “You know not of love, pet. Frigga is a patient woman, determined in her own will; do not let the scriptures deter you from the truth. She cares but she is equally as cruel.” He pursed his lips speculatively. “As worthy a Queen as any.”

At that, Paige chuckled, wholesome and buttery. Her laugh, The LaMottes claimed, could evoke smiles from a crowded room of sinners. The Professor himself paused, his smile growing a bit wider. “Well, I certainly couldn’t be a Queen I—“

“Never say that!” The Professor snapped, the abrupt shift in conversation catapulting Paige out of her blissful meanderings and into the present; her comfort dissipating in the brutality behind his words. “Never utter such depraving ramblings: You are worthy of everything, pet. The World should crumble at your feet, bask in your light—never lower yourself to the mediocrity of your doubts. You are a Queen!” His angular jaw tightened, stressing the celestial severity of his features. Paige felt her hands begin to shake but not with fear—oh, no—but with _desire._  The ache that so deeply permeated her collarbone—especially in her professor’s presence—thrummed indifferently, branching into divine stimuli of bliss. “Queens are graciously rewarded, Miss LaMotte, upon embracing their duties.” His eyes held a rancorous glow, drowning Paige—the blades of green brushing her calves, her thighs—the meadow reached her thoughts, blades ghosting down the side of her throat, brushing her collarbone and…. _Oh._ Paige bit her lip hard enough to thrust her back to reality.

_What is up with this man? No—what’s up with me? Christ._

“I—swim practice—“ Paige fumbled over her words, leaping to her feet. “Thank you for your time, Professor.” With that, she fluttered out the door, swathed in the sound of the contrite laughter at her back.


	6. Forbidden Texts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long suffering update, I'll admit (the next won't be nearly as long of a wait) but is it redeemable? :D

_Damn my conscience._

Paige bemoaned herself as she ambled through the library, thumbing through the dull ramblings of her Anatomy textbook. The library was empty, the sure sign of a Friday night on campus. Her fingers trailed over the dusty shelves, her flip flops echoed over the wooden flooring. Her calves rumbled with cramps, the remnants of an early morning practice she’d endured before classes. She grumped along, weighed by the doubt and regret of refusing a night out on campus. Indulging in the party that carried on across campus.

Usually, Paige was devout to mischief and wrongdoings—antics—but tonight she knew better to direct her attention to her studies.

College implied an obscene amount of studying and planning; nothing like the experience she encountered in high school. Nevertheless, Paige grudged through it all, managing to maintain her crisp, pristine academic record at the sake of her societal pleasures. She could imagine Sam now—roving amongst the crowd, romping to the eclectic beats of some heady rock band.

Amidst her groaning and pouting, Paige’s sights landed on a leather-bound book, large—wide. She edged nearer, plucking the book of the shelf and probing along its intricate spine. Intrigued by the lack of title, Paige thrust open the book and examined the weathered pages dexterously, finding herself consumed in fables of the past; legends.

 _Asgard?_ She roamed absentmindedly around the aisle with her treasure, engrossed. _This could help me with that God forsaken paper I have to write for Laufeyson._

Oh, Laufeyson.

Paige’s heart thudded at the notion, the luxurious way his name slithered about her mind, the delectable imagine that summoned to her eyes. Two months into the semester and Paige had found herself encumbered by the peculiar professor. So forthright of a man, yet, sly—always possessing information that Paige was yet to catch on. She much enjoyed his lectures—despite the archaic methods to his teachings—and attended his study groups held after class. Studious as she was, she could not help but to admit that she attended these sessions more out of infatuation than interest. Professor Laufeyson sought to devour Paige with his eyes, his presence foreboding and mystifying all in the same moment; so keen, able, knowing. Then, of course was the intricate way his words revered in her auditory chambers, the irresistible lull to his notions, even the ones as peculiar as those uttered in his office so many nights ago.

 _Prick of a man,_ She scolded herself habitually, desperate to sway her mind from his being. _Always assigning unreasonable amounts of work._ She cocked at eyebrow, more out of amusement than curiosity, that she find a book pertaining to his subject despite not aiming to study for his class. For once.

Head immersed in her book, Paige began to lose her grappling on reality and nestled herself between the hallow of a book case towards the outskirts of the library, her elbow supporting her head against the wooden shelf as she sought to devour the text. Her brows creased as a string of Nordic symbols dashed about the page, unfamiliar to her readings. She desperately sought to summon the symbols of her textbook to her mind but drew a blank, flabbergasted at her inability to remember. Surely, she had studied enough, hadn’t she?

“Are you lost?”

Paige’s eye flew up from her text and scattered to the lean flesh of man before her. A blush rose to her cheeks as she sought the habitual slimness of his waist and the trim waist coat bestowed upon it, a luxurious green silk. His legs were encapsulated in slim black trouser, emphasizing the curvatures of his claves, as though they were too divine to be contained by the absurdity of fabric. Paige met his shrewd emerald gaze with a haphazard smile.

“No more than usual.” She quipped. Professor Laufeyson grinned, showcasing the glittery expanse of his teeth and jostling the protruding sleekness of his cheekbones.

“I assure you, the lost do eventually find their way.” He replied morosely, crossing his arms over his dapper chest. “Even the most deterred of souls can rise from the uncertainty of their doubts.”

Paige giggled, internally groaning at just how dainty the omission sounded. “So there is hope for me, then? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

His eyes flashed in delight, relishing in their banter. “It is my greatest obligation to ignite the flame in which burns so brightly within you, to encapsulate utmost potential. I am merely fulfilling a duty.”

“Obligation,” Paige swivels the words about her tongue, probing its functionality. “How you manage to bring appeal to that word I’ll never know but, thanks—for feeding my inner flame.” She nearly face-palmed herself at how dull that sounded. What a fool.

He chuckled, his lips tugging negligibly down his cheek, falling into a gorgeous smirk. “So tell me, Miss LaMonte, what brings you here this evening? Ought you not to be dallying at some celebration and fainting from intoxication?”

“I wish…” She muttered, eyes widening upon realizing the words had arrived unbidden to his ears. “I mean no—too much work. I have mid-terms on Monday and it would be just my luck to splurge and throw out everything I’ve been pretending to understand for weeks.”

“And this is a part of your studies?” The Professor’s eyes raked across the leatherbound book in her hands, his eyes inquiring. They narrow suspiciously. “I was unaware that such a book lay in this library.” He thrust out his palm expectantly, as if unnerved by it’s prospect. “May I see it?”

Paige juggled it over reluctantly and noted how ravenously his eyes pried the information from the page. His lips puckered resolutely. Paige shuffled to hover over the front of the book, noting how his eyes dipped between the lines she had been attempting to decipher earlier. It seemed as he, too, was perturbed the scrawling. “Can you translate it?” Paige inquired, observing the brief annoyance that danced between his features. “What does it mean?”

“It is an ancient Norse legend,” He replies, eyes never lifting from the page. “Written eons ago. How it ventured to Midguard, I know not.” He pauses then, stiff. His eyes lift to Paige’s bewildered expression, her brows hunching up her forehead.

“Ventured? As in… travelled here?” Paige repeats, intrigued.

The Professor grinned, shaking his ebony covered head indifferently, feigning nonchalance. “You must excuse me, little one. My head has been submersed within the ancient scriptures for far too long; I admit I may have misplaced my delicate grappling on reality.” He raises the book and waves it dismissively, needlessly. “It is a legend the Norse placed upon Asgard, the glimpsing of destruction; the end to the realms. Ragnarök. A meagre superstition.”

Paige’s thoughts filed the word away quickly, charting it’s significance. When suddenly, a name rambled across her mind, her eyes lifting at the discovery. “Loki—Loki’s prophecy, right? He was the catalyst behind Ragnarök—the end. You taught us this a few weeks ago, I think.”

Laufeyson emboldened her with a predatory look, her eyes shimmering in an undetectable affection. “You are quite the student, Miss LaMonte. I underestimated your retention, it seems.”

“I have my moments.” She harped giddily. “So what does this paragraph mean?” She glided her fingers across the page, indicating her earlier contemplations. “I couldn’t identify it from the translations you gave us. None of the runes coincided with your teachings. Did Ragnarök ever happen?”

The Professor’s lips pursed irritably, his ebony brows furrowing under some unforeseen burden. A silence spurred from her inquiry, swathing Paige with an ominous sense of severity. The hallow space on her collarbone itched suddenly, summoning her fingers to raked across the skin tentatively, wincing at the bruising that lay there from months of irritation. In her frenzy, she’d inevitably shifted closer to the Professor, his keen eyes now trained on hers. Gradually, they slivered down her face, pausing at her lips before dipping to her collarbone. Paige scurried to cover the abrasion, mortified under his heady scrutiny. Laufeyson chastised her scratching with the subtle clinking of his teeth, the sound reverberating through the shelves between them. Before Paige could muster the strength to dodge him, the Professor had clasped onto her collarbone with his fingertips, prying away the material that festered about her mark.

The scuff on her collarbone was prominently inflamed, identifiable to the eye via, its cerise coloring a beacon on the skin. Beneath the inflammation lay the reflection of blue, bruised under the constant scrutiny of her fingers. Laufeyson fondled the wound gently, coolness coercing the throb into submission, evoking instantaneous relief to fleet along Paige’s face, her eyelids lulling closed. The Professor chuckled, daring to inch closer to his student, lips roving up his cheeks. “You ought to see to taking better care of yourself, Miss LaMonte.” Paige sobbed with reprieve as the Professor’s lips lightened upon her skin, brushing her collarbone deliciously. While the ache diminished, a fire rose within her abdomen. She writhed with passion, her subconscious doubts drowned out by the unyielding pressure of his lips.

“Oh, God,” She breathed, her arms reflexively raising to embed in the Professor’s silken locks. Ebony swathed her fingers. Her eyes opened to meager slits as she pulled him closer, her desire unfurling in the breadth of her loins.

“Liberation comes to those who accept their duties.” He whispered against her collarbone. “Place your trust in me, dearest Paige, and I will deliver to you the most exotic of pleasure; disband the burden that plagues you. You will wish for me, little one. Yearn for me, dream of me. Why endure the agony any longer? Come to me, pet… Come to me…”

Paige gasped, thrusting back against the bookcase where she leaned. She clutched the leatherbound text tightly in her grasp, securing it before it could meet the brashness of the wood beneath her. Sweat glistened across her forehead, signaling the conclusion of another dream; another excruciating vision of her basest desires. Absently, Paige trailed over her collarbone, wincing at the acute pain the spiraling from her touch. It grew worse with each dream; shading a bolder color of blue. Gathering her wits, Paige ambled the book under her arm and embarked towards her dorm, desperate to stave off the sultry laughter that taunted her thoughts.

_Come to me, My Queen. Come to me…_


	7. Submission

“You’re burning holes through the desk,” Sam whispered jokily in Paige’s ear, her eyes insightful.

Paige huffed indignantly, redirecting her cantankerous sneer to the front of the lecture hall where the Professor Laufeyson gesticulated, emphasizing the key concepts that were to be covered before the final, merely weeks away.

Her cheeks warmed with barely concealed anger, fed up with the handsome man before her. For weeks she had toiled over the  mid-term essay, referencing nearly every Norse scripture she could scrounge up in the campus library. Countless nights she spent, _hundreds of hours._ Only to be rewarded with a unbearably gaudy C+. Granted, her score was legions above her peers who all bemoaned their copious unsatisfactory Ds and Fs but Paige loathed her average marking; average was _not_ in her nature.

She reminisced to the nights she spent on her essay—the nights allotted for fitful sleep over rigorous morning and evening practices—that were littered with restlessness and unease. Her vision in the library all those weeks ago unnerved her terribly, consistently slithering into her unconscious and corrupting her most sacred dreams. A shiver coursed down her back as the affliction at her neck throbbed, summoned by the memory of his presence. She dreaded it all and fought the urge to scream in the midst of the lecture hall, throwing her head between her hands. Paige had been forced by her coach to have a doctor examine her collarbone, only to be met with deep speculation and slathered with oily ointment that did little to none to alleviate the agony. In fact, the prickling sensation only intensified under its coating. As instructed, she dressed the wound appropriately, succumbing to wear a bandage and miss Swim finals.

“It is little I ask of you.” Laufeyson’s silken voice drew Paige’s attention to himself, his hands folded habitually behind his back. “Show me excellence and I shall redeem your enduring spirit. Do not procrastinate, be _on_ _time…”_ He dashed an accusatory glare off to the left-hand corner of the room where a lagging football player sat, constantly crucified under Laufeyson’s scrutiny. “… and attend my every lecture until the conclusion of the semester. I expect your analysis of the Nine Realms and their respective traditions completed by our next session. 1,000 words. No exemptions.” His grinned charmingly, his distinctive cheekbones lifting. “You are dismissed.”

“Dismissed a whole two minutes early? How generous.” Paige grumbled to Sam, who chuckled jovially. She had already wrangled herself into her backpack straps and was waving to the tardy football player across the way, an eager smile plastered on her lips. Paige followed her trail of vision warily and stood, shaking her head. “So, I’m guessing our movie night is cancelled?”

“What?” Sam blinked, gesturing to her interest to wait. “Oh—no! I completely forgot! Dylan and I were going to grab something to eat after the game and I—“

“No, no!” Paige chuckled, elbowing her friend in the ribs. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just hit the pool and study. Everyone's going to game anyways.” She rolled her eyes, unimpressed by the prospective of hurling balls across a field.

“Yeah, everyone but you!” Sam shrilled, pulling on a lock of Paige’s golden hair. “You really should come—we’re capping off a killer season.”

Paige blew out an exasperated sigh between her lips. “I’ll pass, thanks. Let me know if you get any action.” She grinned and hugged her hormone suspended friend. Sam returned the favor zealously and bounded out of the lecture hall, her heroic football player adorning her arm.

Items gathered, Paige mustered up her strength to stride across the room and march up to the podium where Professor Laufeyson regally stood, diligently scribbling notes onto a piece of parchment. He inclined his head to her in acknowledgment, feigning disinterest. “Miss LaMotte, what can I do for you?”

She lifted her shoulders confidently, her brows crinkling down the middle of her forehead. “I had a question.” She replied, mentally groaning at the simplicity of her omission.

Professor Laufeyson lifted a dark eyebrow, tilting his chin towards her in derisive encouragement. “ Is there a specific question you wish to ask or shall I be required to read your mind?”

Paige ground her teeth in vexation. “In regards to my mid-term,” She began, her voice leaden with determination. “I think your grade is ridiculously unfair—I exceeded the word count and provided a vast array of sources.”

Professor Laufeyson chuckled cynically, still refusing to glance up from his task. “I assign my markings accordingly, Miss LaMotte. If you did not receive a satisfactory grade, you may refer to comments and use them to aide you in your next submission.” He clicked his teeth, pausing to scribble out a line on the task he was toiling over, his divine cheekbones jostling at the movement. “All grades are final.”

“I reviewed your comments—multiple times—and I found them unfairly vague.” She persisted, eyes flickering over a paragraph in her essay, he finger tracing the sentence. “ ‘Too dimensional’—what does that even _mean?_ ” She blew of strand of hair out of her face and leveled the Professor with her scrutiny. “I would like to request a resubmission.”

“You speak as though I offered such an opportunity.” He replied, nonplussed. “Honestly, Miss LaMotte your grade is the second highest in this class. Comparatively, your peers fell short of your accomplishment.”

Paige huffed out an exasperated sigh, aware of how childish the omission was. “Yes, Ebony scored the highest—an 88, was it? I read her paper; it was crap. Just because she spends all her time kissing ass during your office hours, she receives a decent grade? How in the Hell is that fair?” Paige’s hand flew up with her neck during her tangent, disbelieving the words that dare to stumble from her lips.

Instantly, Professor Laufeyson’s eyes fled his paper and landed on Paige, ensconcing her under his emerald scrutiny. He dropped his pencil, the subtle click audible against the wooden podium. “Miss LaMotte, I have requested of your before to cease the obscene language in my presence,” He cooed, sending a foreboding chill down his student’s spine. “I do believe this is subjection to punishment.”

“Professor, please—I never meant to—“ She begged, eyes wide in apprehension.

“Oh, but you did. Do not mistake me, I do admire your spirit. Unfortunately for you, admiration has little to do with lessons…” He steps around his podium and folded his arms behind his back. “However shall I deal with you?” Her encircle Paige dexterously, seductively.

“Professor, please, I—ah!” Her collarbone seared to life, agony tracing the affected area. She slapped a hand to it wearily, gritting her teeth.

“What is this?” Laufeyson inquired, interest piqued. “Are you in pain, little one?”

“No it’s just a bite—nothing serious, ah!” She gasped, her knees quivering at the intensity of the pain kindling with her body.

The Professor circle closer, his breath ghost down the front of her blouse. “Let me see it.”

“No—please! It’s fine, really. I need to go—“

“You will do no such thing. Your insolence has already proven to your detriment today, Miss LaMotte so I suggest that if you wish to keep your outburst beneath the Dean’s nose, you let me examine that affliction of yours.”

Reluctantly, Paige withdrew her hand. She unzipped her jacket and folded down the turtleneck of her sweater, beholding the bite for him to observe. He did so thoroughly, leaning in to investigate the brackish coloring. He swept a hand over it in assessment, merely grazing the wound. Sparks of pleasure coalesced upon the contact. Paige emitted a small moan, flinching at how pitiful it sounded.

The Professor’s eyes flitted briefly to hers, questioningly, before refocusing on the wound. This time, he massaged the area, sending Paige into a tizzy of pleasure. In spite of herself, Paige reached out to grasp his forearm, luring him closer. All the dreams, the bliss, the illusions—they grappled reality. The Professor chuckled, deep reverberations spiraling through the meager distance that separated them.

“Eager, little one?” he tsked. “You know the rules.”

Rules? Her head swam. She needed him—closer— _now_.

“I—yes. Rules. I agree.”

He rolled his emerald eyes, amused as ever. “You do not yet know all that entails. You do, however, know what you must do…” He loomed closer, his lips nearly caressing hers. “Say it. Say it, my darling girl.”

Her cheeks burned crimson, embarrassed by the mere ministrations her words wreaked on her body.

“I am losing my patience, pet. You need only say it….” He blew teasingly on her lips, tempting them to pucker. He chuckled, clearly enjoying such play.

“I—I’m yours. I submit to you. Please, Professor.” She begged, grasping at his shoulders.

“Finally.” Laufeyson hummed in satisfaction and stitched closed the gap between them. His kiss was passionate and demanding. It was not a kiss for the faint hearted—no. He ravaged her lips, parting them with the sweet craving of a man who had been too long deprived of a lover of his own. Paige met his challenge, pressing closer, her breaths compiling atop one another in a mad frenzy. Who was she? Surely, she was not kissing her Professor? No—scratch that. She didn’t actually _supplicate_ for this, did she?

Deciding she couldn’t be bothered with caring, she laced her lingers in his prim, ebony locks, hitching her leg about his waist. He grinned against her lips and shifted his efforts to implore her neck. Paige couldn’t contain the wantonly moans that paraded from her chest all of their own sinuous accord.

Laufeyson’s lips tempted her collarbone, his tongue lapping at the belligerent crimson. Paige groped him closer, tighter. Minutely, both legs were around his waist and the Professor’s hands grappled the sensitive flesh beneath her thighs covered by denim. Even through the heavy material, Paige could still reap the sinuously marvelous manner in which he invaded her senses, her skin. Her head flopped back in ecstasy.

He shifted then, strutting over to a desk in the first row, never once abandoning the ministrations on Paige’s collarbone. He sat Paige down upon it graciously, meeting her with a purposeful gaze. Paige viewed him through hooded eyes, blissed out from his careful attention.

“Now that you’ve embraced my callings, little one,” he sang, raking a fingertip down Paige’s thigh. “I demand a taste of what I have so long awaited.” He leaned precariously close, the velvet texture of his lips stirring against Paige’s ear.  “Rid of your trousers.”

Paige cleared her throat, as if suddenly coming to terms with the reality that surrounding them. “Callings?” She echoed. “You—you did this? You knew? How did you—“

“Never mind you that.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Is it not relief you seek?” He pressed his fingertips to her collarbone, excitement coiling in Paige’s stomach.

“Later?” Paige ventured, her blue eyes beseeching his hopefully.

“If you wish it so—I shall do anything within my authority for you.” He purred, his hand swathing her cheek. His fingers fondled her skin, brushing over it adoringly. Paige’s heart nearly burst. “Now, pet—I believe I issued you a command.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eyebrow wiggle*


	8. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt at writing something smutish. I promise I'll improve. Try not to cringe too much!

It was tedious work, wrestling out of her jeans while straddling a desk. Nevertheless, Paige managed to eradicate her pants in a matter of moments, gazing up at her Professor expectantly.

Laufeyson’s hands latched onto the silken skin of her thighs. Paige trembled beneath his touch, never hanging been subjected to such genteel fondling before. He appraised the bronze hue that drifted across her skin, silently vowing to lock her indoors and restore her natural, feminine coloring as soon as possible. It was turning winter, after all. He hitched her knees apart, bracing them on either side of the desk. Paige’s heart thudded precariously in her chest.

What was he _doing_?

He reached his thumbs up to embed in the quaint cotton cloth that was her panties. It shook his head depreciatingly, coercing the material down slowly. “Tsk—it is a waste for such mediocrity to lay claim upon your body. You belong in sheer silks, satin.” His emerald occipitals flickered up to hers. “Never wear these again in my presence, am I clear?” Paige nodded sheepishly and continued to observe as he eradicated her panties down her legs, tossing the garment crassly on the floor.

Paige made a mental note to retrieve them later.

Laufeyson eased his hands beneath Paige’s buttocks and dragged her to the edge of the desk, exposing to him the delights of her core. Her slunk down to his knees, inhaling her feminine bouquet. “So primitive. You are divine, dove. A Goddess, a Queen.”

“Professor—should we be doing this?” _No. You shouldn’t be doing this at all._ “Here?” She quirmed slightly, the cool air from the room meshing with warmth of Laufeyson’s breath. “Someone could walk in and see…” She gestured loosely to their predicament, her Professor’s head between her thighs.

“All the more reason to make quick work of this then, yes?” He inclined his head closer. “Brace yourself, pet.” With his edict, Laufeyson delved into her womanhood, his fingers shimming across her labia, embedding within. Paige’s gasped at the chilliness of his fingers, grasping the desk for support. His fingers swiveled tentatively, stopping about brushing her feminine barrier. “Saving ourselves, are we?” He grinned up at Paige, eliciting a humiliated squeak from her lips. “Not for long, I assure you. It will be pleasurable—by it’s conclusion I will have you craving for more, crawling upon your hands and knees at my feet. I shall deliver to you every promise that a meager Midgardian could never intend to keep. I will be _your God._ ”

_God? Midguardian? You’ve been submersed in your field a little too long Professor._

“This arouses you so, little one.” He scissored his fingers within her, redirecting Paige’s efforts to his ministrations. His words slither into her eardums, soothing her thoughts. She relazes into the erotic meshing of her fingers, her eyes fluttering closed. Bliss...

“Ung—oh!” She gasped, thrown from her reverie. Laufeyson flicked his tongue against her clit. Gently, he suckled her delicious bud, taunting the pert area with the lips. An insurmountable urge built within Paige, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Her abdomen throbbed with thirst—a thirst in which could only be quenched by the stunning man beneath her. Her tongue gyrated against her clit, following the crevasses of her womanhood until Paige was rearing off of the desk, his hips lurching up of their own accord. He chuckled against her folds and concentrated his efforts tenfold.

“Professor I—I can’t—“ She squealed in ecstasy as she spiraled into bliss, the surmounting tension in her abdomen threatening to shatter. She was delirious with passion, clawing at the back of her Professor’s forehead, her fingernails embedding into her skin.

She rode his face inextricably, crying out in bliss. “Yes, yes Professor!” Her frenzy broke as her orgasm bottomed, her abdomen uncoiling and deliver her sweet, savory release.

“How erotic you cries are, little one, upon embracing your release.” He mumbled before lapping up her juices with his tongue. “Savor yourself pet, savor what you offer to me and me alone.” His lips clashed against her convening the salty taste of her arousal. She drew him closer, grinding her hips against the buldge in his trousers. Seemingly of her own accord, her hands slithered down to probe his bulge. His tsked her against their kiss, withdrawing to fixate her with an apprehensive look. “Not now pet, but soon.  We have much to cover before we embrace my pleasure…” His this lips drew up into a smirk. He ghosted a finger along Paige’s lips.

Paige withdrew her hands and nodded, vision still blurry from her rapture moments before. “Professor…” She trailed off.

“Yes, pet?”

“I—you have a name.” She shook her head in an attempt to gain her groundings, summoning her usual deliverance. “I want to know you name.”

He released a booming laugh, shuttering the rafter in the old lecture hall. “That is what one always says, before the embrace my true nature. A shame, really.”

“Who are you?” She demanded, blonde brows drawing together in confusion. “And who did you know about my dreams? Of how—how did you know what I should say?”

“That’s simple, pet.” A seductive grinned leapt across his face, unveiling a leer unlike any other. “I am Loki, God of Mischief and you, my dear child, are meant to be my beloved, my queen--to rule alongside me during my conquest of the realms.” He cooed, pressing his forehead to hers. “Surely you remember my who I am child? Yes, yes—you are mine, now. _Mine.”_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse of pace of the chapter, I have to get moving to Asgard because, as of now, we will permanently reside here and begin and the plot! Yeee!

Paige sprang back as if she’d thrust her finger into an electrical outlet, her mouth drawn up in incredulity.

“This makes no sense.” She shakes her head profusely. “A God? Is this some sort of class assessment? If so, I’ll gladly lower my average and settle with a F.”

Loki merely regarded her as though she were his own personal entertainment, amused by her obvious unsettlement. “This is no trickery, I assure you.”

“And how am supposed to accept your word if you are allegedly ‘Loki’ “ She frames his name with satirical air quotes. “Loki is the rightful king of deceit and lies. Your words would automatically cancel out.”

“Is that so?” Loki hums, preying upon the space that separated them. “If I were the God of Lies and I were indeed luring you into one of my ploys, I would not be so courteous as to warn you of my shortcomings. You would be wise to heed my word, little one.”

“Alright _Loki,_ “ She placates, clutching the edges of the desk for stability. “If I were to believe this insanity, why would you choose me? Why call to me in that cave? You could’ve chosen Sam.”

Loki snorts derisively. “As if I would select any meager mortal. No, I chose you, little one, because your soul so prominently beckons to my own. When you entered my dwelling, your presence called to me own—primitive and pure. I could only taste the sinfully divine nectar of your flesh, bathe in the delectable scent that encases your being. Yes, my dove, you are I are as your Bible’s Adam and Eve; we are divinity personified.”

“That’s some lofty relationship goal.” Paige gulped and fisted her hands in her lap, her thighs still bare. “I don’t know what to think of this—if I should be thinking of this.”

“Fret not, pet.” Loki cooed, nearing his precious mortal. The back of hand brushed her cheek soothingly. “You need to trouble yourself with the trivialities of our newfound kindling. I do not appear so foreign, do I? Does my soul not summon your basest of desires?”

Paige’s cheeks lit with heat. Loki grinned at such a revealing act. He leaned forwards a bestowed a kiss upon her forehead. “Why me?” She echoed, her willowy voice foreign to her ears. “What about the women you’ve slept with? How about Professor—“

“They mean nothing to me— _nothing._ ” He snaps benevolently, drawing Paige to fall victim to his soldering emerald scrutiny. “I have endured a small eternity to stumble into your embrace, little one. Do not dare doubt my affections.”

“If you are actually Loki, what about New York? How are you not in prison atoning for your crimes?” Paige murmured, unsure of her predicament. Was her Professor rightly insane? Or was he truly a God whom had nearly obliterated Earth?

Loki’s eyes darkened at her words, the lush evergreen dimming under a brazen nightfall. “I have paid my toll—years have passed on Asgard. I bear my scars for my sins, make no mistake of that.”

“Why tell the class the act was a sham, then?” Paige, intrigued by the alleged God before her.  

Loki chuckles, a sultry omission. “Well, I can not very well allow them to suspect I am a homicidal God, can I?” He kisses her eyes and trails down her neck slowly, savoring the innocent lull of her skin. Hypnotizing.

“Alright—I’m believing you—ah!” She hisses as he brushes her collarbone with his lips, wincing under the passion that surges through her at the graze. “Where does that leave me in your schemes?”

Loki refrains from his ministrations and draws back to gaze at his mortal, eyes dancing with mirth. “My intended, indeed.” He apprehends, impressed by her scrutiny.

“If your class has taught me anything, it is to delve into the true character of the Gods. I have thoroughly raked through your chapters, Professor, and in that is a man who demands satisfaction. I’ smart enough to know I am not just a prize won through chance. You need me.”

“In more ways than one, pet.” He growls, spurred by her accusations. “You are not wrong. I need you to remedy the wrongs sent against my. I need you to be my Queen, as it so came to me in a vision.”

Paige cast her eyes to the lecture hall floor, traces the divots in the wood. “I can’t be a Queen. I’ve barely graduated high school—I’m barely an adult.”

“No, pet, you are so much more.” He purrs, consoling her doubts. “To me you are not orphan, but a thriving, brilliant appropriation of my soul. Join me, My Queen. Succumb to the deep calling that resonates within you. Surely, you see such potential in yourself? The magnificence? I saw beckon it from you, little one.”

The logical parts of her mind made to protest, disturbed by the heinous reality thrust upon her. Yet, coiled deep within her soul unfurled the potential—the extra laps she was able to finish, the flourish to her work, the infallible conquest of her emotions when faced with family after family. Perhaps, despite the fanfare and arms that swathed her, this was where she truly belonged. Perhaps she could be a Queen—his Queen.

“Fine.” She whispered, disarming Loki by constricting her arms around his neck. “I am yours.”

He grinned in triumph and drew away his hand, green spiraling about his fingertips. He swirled his hand sporadically, swathing them in a veil of emerald. His tongue trailed along her bottom lip, to which she caught between her teeth. Loki’s eyes shimmered with passion as he leaned forward to ravish her lips with his.

Away was the orphan, the neglected friend, the absentminded swimmer.

In ushered a woman worthy of insurmountable feats.

A woman who was determined to conquer the beast before her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this shocked you a bit. Paige was never designed to be docile and now, we are going to see her bloom. Fear not, she will be in charge in some steamy smut scenes approaching as well as appropriately innocent in matters she knows not.
> 
> I am excited!


	10. Welcome to Asgard

Paige collapsed onto a smattering of pillows, her head colliding into the stack of softness before the rest of her body. She groaned, repressed from her intergalactic endeavors.  

Still a tad dazed, Paige wrestled into an upright position. Her eyes eagerly sought her surroundings, absorbing each golden fissure, each glimmering jewel beset in the emerald plastered upon the walls. Her eyes narrowed, suddenly aware as to why her surroundings seemed so unbearably mystic, glittering. Her fingers sought the sheer canopy that swathed where she lay. Her legs were entangled with one another, her shoes plowing into the golden, silk duvet beneath her. She cursed upon noting a miniscule tear in the covering, her cheeks flaming with guilt.

“You ought not to worry—there are plenty more where that came from.” Paige’s eyes jerked to where her Professor towered, his hands drawn behind his back, bemusedly inhaling her crumpled physique.

“That was…” Paige grappled for the words, settling with a befuddled head shake. “Where are we?”

“My chambers.” He replied, slinking closer to where Paige lay strewn. He slivered a hand to caress her cheek, his thumb teasing the sensitive skin beneath her occipitals. “A mere fraction of them, mind you.”

“You certainly stick to a color scheme, don’t you?” She muses, captivated by the charismatic God before her, ensnared in his windows of evergreen; a doe amidst a billowing meadow, wrought mercilessly through a gust of wind.

“You, too, shall soon adopt this my perceived ‘color scheme’.” Paige tilted her head, inquiring. “Once I announce our bond to Asgard, you shall flaunt the colors of your beloved.” He beamed radiantly, etching closer. “That would be me, in case interdimensional travel has sought to befuddle that insightful little mind of yours.”

“Bond?” Paige echoed. “Exactly what does that bond entail?”

Loki lifted an ebony brow. “Do I detect skepticism, little one?”

“In the hands of trickery, I feel like I’m inclined to some suspicion.” She remarked, leaning into her lingering caress. “I’m yours—this I agreed to. What I don’t understand is this ‘bond’ talk.”

“You recall that beckoning you felt—that you _would_ be privy to this instance, if not for my meddling—in my presence? That delightful tingle that raptures your body?” His fingers light over her collarbone, gently probing the temporarily slumbering affliction. “It is evidence of our bond. I chose you so long ago, in that dank, destitute cave. This signifies our obligation to one another; the divine waltz of our souls. You are mine and mine alone. None shall dare feast upon what rightfully belongs to me.” He hums appreciatively, a deep grumble resounding within his throat. “In time, the ideal shall appeal to you.”

“Be that as it is…” Paige cleared her throat uncomfortably, disconcerted by his notions. Why do I have to be presented court? From my readings, Asgardian proceedings are tedious and customarily catered to Aesir—or which I am neither! Loki, I’ve barely assimilated into Asgardian culture—I haven’t even explored pass this room! I can’t be showcased to Asgard!”

“Worry not. My oaf of a brother rules the Kingdom—he shall embrace your emergence with reverence.” He withdrew from his human, gesturing to an ornate. “I shall attend to the details minutely. In my wake, I suggest you digest your accommodations here. I will modify my dwelling accordingly to your needs.”

Unnerved by the uneasiness his presumed departure brought, she sought crawled up the bed, following him as he passed the bed. “When will you be back?” She inquired, inwardly flinching at the desperation in her voice.

Loki seized her chin, bestowing her nose with a delectable, chaste kiss. “You must learn to revel and trust in my word, My Queen. I shall always return to you.” He snapped his lithe fingers and became encapsulated in a fog of green. In moments, he had vanquished leaving but his memory in Paige’s thoughts.

Paige rose, flitting about the room. Her fingers sought a desk and it’s personal affects, fingering an ancient spellbook left agape on the wooden structure. After perusing the room to her satifaction, she vacated to the door in which Loki had gestured, stumbling into a grandiose bathroom..

While the room possessed no official shower or bath, it harbored a colossal pool in its center. Circling the pool curiously, Paige noted a vast array of bottles and oils. She gathered a vile in her hand, inquiring a label. After finding none, she trekked across the gold, marble flooring until she encountered the vanity, an elongated mirror casting her reflection. Claire probed her appearance admonishingly, lighting a hand over the face that had somehow drawn the affections of a God. Not just any God, at that-- _Loki Laufeyson._ The blonde haired, wild-eyed mortal peering back at her did not seem worthy of an ethereal being, a wielder of magic.

“And to think an hour ago he was my Professor…” That alone was a fantasy. Paige blew air in her face, astounded. Only, Paige had vowed before her departure of Asgard that she would live up to the insurmountable expectation of her God to worship him as a regal woman should. In this mirror, glaring back at herself, Paige swore that never again would that timid orphan dictate her life; the quivering creature amid Loki’s bed moments ago.

She braced her hand against the counter and stole a glance in the mirror, capturing a sole maid starring back at her. She curtsied politely, smiling bashfully. “Pardon my intrusion, miss. I did call.”

Paige decided to ignore the accusation smattering her voice, summoning the grace to spin around and greet the young maiden. “Oh, sorry. I was just exploring… Do you need me?”

The maid cocked her head, maintaining a kind stare. “I was sent to tend your needs ma’am. I am to be your maid—should you require me. His majesty was most adamant that I deliver whatever you should desire.”

Paige’s heart leap elatedly in her chest, summoning a childhood sentiment left otherwise unharvested for years. “He did?” She sighed, nearing the maiden. “Do you happen to have any sweets on Asgard?”

The woman’s eyes sparkled with merriment. “Only the finest, I assure you! Shall I fetch you some?”

“That would be awesome!” Paige cheered, pausing at the maiden’s bewildered expression, lips drawn into an inquiring pout. “Superb—sublime—you know what? Forget it. Sweets would be great, yes. Sorry.”

“No apologies, miss.” She curtsied. “Is there anything else you require?”

Paige’s eyes shirked over to the bathing pool in the center of the room her lips curving up into a radiant smile. “You wouldn’t mind teaching me how to use this, would you?” Seeing as there wasn’t an assessable knob… It seemed an apt request.

“Use? Blasphemy! ‘tis my job to draw your bath, madam!” The maiden shot into action, fetching several towels and kneeling to grope along the pool. Her fingers achieved their purpose and the oval began filling from the side, tiny jets searing into action. A moment later, she groped the side again. A veil of water came pouring down upon the oval—a mystifying waterfall bewitching a bath chamber.

“You’re amazing! Thank you!” Paige shrilled, nearing the pool.

The maid nodded and held up several vials she retrieved from a nearby cupboard, discarded of the customary ones that lingered there when Paige entered. “I suggest you use these on your hair, madam. Green first, gold second.” Peculiar—the hygiene products even adhered to his color scheme? Perhaps Professor Laufeyson had a bit more of an ego than Paige had predicted.

“Again, thank you. You’re the bomb!” The maiden was physically taken aback, flinching. Her amber eyes widened conspiratorially.  “No—not literally the bomb! It’s a Midgardian term—it’s a compliment, I swear! No explosions. I—what’s your name?” Paige huffed, shaking her head in self-reprimand.

“Marian.” The maid timidly replied, chuckling slightly. “You are most welcome, miss. I shall go see to your sweets now.” She raised a hand before she left, summoning Paige’s attentions. “Oh, and I neglected to mention… Welcome to Asgard.”

 


	11. Mine, boys!

Losing herself to the soothing hands of the bathing oval proved to be an easy feat. Paige sighed, relishing in the gentle stream of bliss that rained from above, waving away her cares.

Eventually, Marian returned. On her arrival, she delivered a delectable plate of chocolates and pastries. The carb devouring swimmer within Paige riled immediately, seeking to sate her cravings—college had ruined her atonement to finer luxuries, _edible_ luxuries…

Upon request, Marian lessen the stream of water and set it to a soothing drip, informing Paige of the clothes she had laid on the vanity. Paige’s sights settled on the vanity inquiringly, catching only a glimmer of green. She desperately wanted to inform Loki that red was more of her color although, she’d never worn much green nor gold, for that matter.

An hour had etched past before Paige emerged, shimming into a towel. As she dried herself, regret tinged her thoughts. Had she truly been cruel in persecuting her life on Earth? The LaMottes would mourn her loss—the fragile couple they were. What about Sam? Her swimming colleagues? Perhaps she should not have leapt at the first exotic romance to ever stumble across her path; desire did not equate logic.

No, Paige knew this was where she was destined to be. She felt confident in Loki’s embrace, empowered. Her blood sang of familiarity despite her inhibitions of living in a land she did not know.

Paige dropped her towel and pulled the green dress that lay on the vanity over her head. Cashmere? She sighed as the dress settled against her skin. Casting a brief glance in the mirror, Paige decided that perhaps green _was_ her color…

The dress exposed her collarbone—which once was stinging and inflamed—had dulled to her flesh tone. A black circle settled the area, evoking a wave a fear to engulf her. Was it infected? She sought the affliction instantly, probing the area with worrisome fingers. While no pain stemmed from her examination, she was still unnerved, worrisome.

“Your doubts are succinct, little one.”

In the mirror, her professor loomed behind her, his lips tracing intricate patterns up and down her throat. He paused, breathed in. His lips roamed lowered, tongue tracing a lazy circle around her collarbone. Paige gasped, her eyes lapsing into indiscernible slits.

“My pupil likes this, does she?” He purred against her skin, hi slips probing at her collarbone. Paige flung herself around in his embrace, clawed the front of his armor. Loki chuckled and pulled away, his emerald eyes beseeching hers. “My colors compliment you wondrously, little one.” A fingers fretted the edge of her nightgown, the pads of his fingers gliding over the fabric. “It seems we were cut from the same cloth.”

“Mmmm…” Paige nodded, snuggling her head against his neck. “I don’t really know what I’ve done to deserve this but, I don’t think I’m going to complain.”

“To do such would be fruitless, my pet. Our fates are interwoven.” He sighed, blew at the top of her head, stirring her blonde locks. “My mother always assured me of your emergence. My rebirth, she prophesized. I cannot express the pleasure you bring me, little one.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Paige muttered against him. “But, I can’t help but think this is surreal. Time just… I’ve abandoned it all. And for what? Professor—“

“Cease your qualms!” he raged, seizing her chin. “You are to be a Queen, _my_ Queen. You and I shall lead Asgard into a new era, one of triumph and discipline! An era you are deigned to conquer! You are the missing piece, little one. This doubt—these trivialities only seek to muddle our fates. You must be strong.” His eyes bore into hers, fierce and demanding.

Paige swallowed thickly and nodded. Loki sighed and ghosted his fingers over her collarbone.

“We will have an enduring day tomorrow, you must rest.” Paige began to pull away from his embrace, only to be wretched closer still. “Ah, ah, ah” He tsked. “I must prepare you for Asgard, little one. Bare your neck to me.”

“What for?” Her skin prickled with goose flesh.

“Is that doubt, little one?” His tone was ominous, challenging. Paige hastily jerked her neck to the side. “Now, I ask you to stand still, my Queen. This shall not be pleasant.”

Loki lifted his hand as green light trickled about his fingers. He lowered them to her collarbone, searing her skin. Of all the workouts she’d endured, the excruciating laps, the increase in weights—Paige had never foregone such agony! The scent of burning flesh burdened the air as Loki traced his finger along Paige’s collarbone.

When Loki finally pulled away, Paige ran to the bathroom counter, eyes wide. In the wake of his fingers was an articulate mark, a delicate set of interwoven snakes. They seemed to devour one another.

“You are mine, dearest Paige.” Loki whispered, his glowing eyes swallowing hers in the mirror. “ _Mine.”_


	12. Newcomings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in light of our beloved Tom, in an effort to embody his marvelous talent.  
> I wanted to remember him in such a brilliant role.  
> You know, before that talentless rake Taylor Swift dug her claws into his flawless exterior.
> 
> What a bitch.  
> Really disappointed in Tom.  
> He shames the name of Loki.

_Mine._

It was a prayer, a reverent whisper left adrift the wind. Paige cherished Church as a child—the soulful hymns, the unyielding devotion to the man above all men; God in his heaven, eternal solace.

Now, well, her admiration had dwindled.

A faith she once persued so strongly nearly crumbled under the grandiose, impressive hands of Asgard. The land brushed its fingertips between her shoulder blades, urged her through the winding, eternal hallways. Occasionally those fingers would snag in her hair, grapple her head, and redirect her efforts to a new sight: stables, gardens, waterfalls.

Asgard was a marvel to behold.

“Everything I know… It’s wrong.” She conceded to Loki the night of her arrival, her head propped on his shoulder.

“Wrong?” Loki echoed, allowed the words to loiter on his tongue. “You Midguardians and your repugnant divides between what is right and what is wrong.” He chuckled, gestured elegantly into the space beside Paige’s head. “Why make such distinctions if you never abide by these so called ‘wrongs’ and ‘rights’? Your morals are dreadfully askew.”

“What? And your Pagan followers are much better? At least us ‘Midguardians’ have guidelines, a template. The Bible provides a way to base ourselves, to improve.” Paige squirmed in Loki’s arms, barreled her blue eyes into his. “It gives people something to believe in.”

Loki’s eyes glinted curiously, mischievously. He captured her chin, embedded his fingers in her cheeks. “Have I not earned your faith? Your loyalty?” Paige’s lips sprang apart, only to close once more. Loki tilted her chin up, towards him, pressed a lingering, sultry kiss to the corner of her lips. “Surely, you desire the gospel of a God more _tangible,_ more _concrete…”_ He purred, evoking gooseflesh to ripple across Paige’s skin. “A God you can _feel._ ”

Paige gasped as Loki seized her hand, maneuvering it to fondle the definitive bulge that stirred beneath the covers.

The stirring of the memory sent Paige’s cheeks ablaze. Marian walked beside her, rustling the lush fabric that sat upon Paige’s frame.

“You are a sight to behold, m’lady.”

“I—Thank you but, you don’t need to lie…”

“I am sworn to honesty, ma’dam. My King demands it.”

Paige’s eyes leapt to the golden floors of the hall, fluttered briefly to Mariah. “Who? Odin?”

Marian’s doe eyes widened. “Odin, m’lady?”

“Yes—King Odin, Ruler of Asgard… Father of Thor, adoptive father of Loki… You know….”

Marian wrought her thumbs nervously through her gown, cheeks flushed with rose.

They pair came to a halt outside a pair of paramount, golden doors. Figures were etched along the corridor: warriors befit with swords, helmeted Gods gallanting upon horses. As Paige peered closer, she noted the every detail, each divine crevasse. One horse toted eight elegant legs ripped in muscle.

“M’lady, he is ready.”

The golden doors parted, each beholding a stocky, defined guard. They’re eyes grazed over Paige hesitantly as she embarked down the aisle, her heels chinking against the marbled flooring.

At the crux of the room, arose a dais. It was golden, glistening. Atop it laid an expansive, luxorious throne. A shiny waterfall, suspended in time, as though Odin himself lounged between a flowing stream and conformed to his body.

_Odin’s throne? The legends, the books… It’s nearly identical._

That throne—in all it’s glory and legend—sat delightfully unoccupied, stoic.

“Familiar, is it not?” Loki cast her a seductive beam. He stood beside the throne, his emerald eyes ablaze in the brazen sun that streamed through the windows. Paige cocked her head to the side, observing as the rays skirted dexterously across smooth, pale skin.

“Care to share, little one?”

“It’s just… Ironic, admiring you in the sun.” She cast him a predatory smile, her lips pulling up over her teeth. “Moonlight… Moonlight better suits you.”

Whatever reply danced upon Loki’s lips, abruptly died as regal woman bounded across the dais, her mousy hair adorned in braids, tethered at the back of her head.

“Eir, you are late.” Loki growled, his flawless features drawn up in a sneer.

“We fight a war, lest you forget.” Her hazel eyes thrashed plaintively against his. Her hands clasped in front of her gown. “I have patients to tend.”

_War? Oh, am I going to bombard him with questions later…._

Loki dismissed her protests, stalked closer to where she woman idled. “Thor—he is preoccupied?”

Eir bowed her head, a slight smirk illuminated her cheeks. “His majesty is unaware, at your request.” Her eyes settled on Paige. “This is her, yes? The soul in which beckoned to your own?” She descended the dais in which the throne perched. She was nearly soundless as she walked. She tipped a nail under Paige’s chin. Her eyebrows lifted suddenly, her mouth emitting a soft pop as it abruptly drifted open, and closed.

Paige’s eye drew to Loki, noting his heady grimace. “Well?” His emerald eyes softened as they flitted about Paige’s cheeks, her chin. “This is Eir—our resident healer, as I am sure you recall.”

“Of course, I—“

“My Prince, she is indeed lovely, refined.” Eir appraised Paige once more, awe miffing her features, before swiveling to examine Loki. “Her mark had developed quite well. 2 days? Remarkable.”

“Eir, enough with such ambiguity. I grow weary of disguising her before the staff—I must declare our betrothal before Thor, immediately. I refuse to allow her to me wretched from my grasp—I have waited lifetimes for her to stumble into my life and I shall not wait a moment longer.”

“Be that as it may, you highness, this woman is no ordinary midguardian—“

Loki huffed imperiously, gestured around him grandly.

“Loki.” Eir said, urgency lacing her tone. “Your Paige is no mere Midguardian. Her blood sings loudly, prevalently—she is part Aesir.”

 

“ _What?”_ Loki and Paige chirped in unison. The air stirred where Loki lingered, his presence suddenly vanishing. A trail of emerald smoke billowed in his wake, funneling to where Paige stood. He appeared before her, encapsulated her cheeks in either one of his hands, his long fingers brushing her temples, a cool sensation spiraling through her frantic thoughts.

 “Impossible! She would have to possess royal lineage—Asgardian nobility is not commonly misplaced.” Loki pursed his thin lips. “I was unable to detect Aesir bindings within her blood, even with my advanced sorcery.”

“It is not a finding one easily detects as the spell it was hidden under is altered to disguise itself even from the most skillful sorcerers.” Eir sighed, gestured to Paige. “I am a healer, gifted my Odin himself. All reveals itself in light of medicine.”

“This doesn’t make any sense! I’m an orphan—average! Loki, I’m sorry—I know how much you hate—“

“Little one,” He whispered. “You do not lie. You did not know, _I_ did not know.” Paige drown in her own private meadow, hidden within Loki’s eyes. She sought the truth in them, the genteelness to his words. She dully acknowledged him conversing with Eir. “To what lengths does her blood sing in declaration of my lineage? A father, a mother?”

Loki’s question was met by silence. Paige detached herself from Loki’s embrace, glanced past to the healer beyond. Eir’s mouth bobbled uncertainly, eyebrows stitched together.

A disturbance stirred at the front of the room—the clattering of the throne room doors. Paige could nearly decipher the massive silhouette that trailed the floor, the booming voice. “Brother! Our battlefronts reap success for the day! May we drink and be merry!”

A possessive arm slithered around Paige’s waist, tucked her in closely, intimately.

“Well, well, well, brother! What fine maiden is this?” The form paused before the dais, settling on the trio. Paige marveled at the broad, resilient features of the King—a Viking. Corded muscle rippled down the man’s arms, a massive hammer folded into a meaty fist. Paige’s eyes grazed the defined, ragged chin, the masculine planes of his cheeks. His skin was nearly as gold as the fissures accented the room itself. “Brother—who—“ Paige met the King’s eyes—strong, ovular, and teeming with icy accents amid a dark blue canvas.

Loki’s body trembled beside her, a tremulous rumbling resonating within his chest.

“ _Paighera?”_


	13. Origins

Loki’s sardonic gaze drew to Eir, his hands morphing into fists. “Surely, he isn’t—“

Eir nodded in solemnity, eyes flickering between the God of Mischief and his boisterous brother.

Thor fixed the room with a mighty bellow, his palm striking the air to clutch _Mijonir_ as his flew into his grasp. One, two, three mighty steps, and Paige was torn from Loki’s grasp, tugged behind the body of the brutish blonde God.

Snakes shivered in Loki’s eyes, long, writhing bodies of green—ire, jealousy. His lips roiled into a sneer.

“Brother,” He purred. “I know mother has been gone for quite some time now, but you do recall a snippet of her advice, hm?” He leaned toward his brother, snapped his tongue. “ _Do not touch what does not belong to you.”_

“She was never yours to begin with!” Thor roared. “How dare you find her, Loki? How dare you unbury what ought not be found!”

“ _Not mine!”_ Loki snarled. “You _abandoned her!_ You left her _alone, powerless!_ Perhaps, your late father taught you only so well to abandon your beloved, to watch them wither under your gluttonous clutches! _You do not claim her!_ ”

Paige pushed past Thor and wrangled herself between the feuding fiends, convinced that should their bickering continue, the palace could not withstand their wrath. Her blue eyes raged against Thor’s, her meager will thrashing against that of a titan, a beast—a beast that reminded her peculiarly of herself.

“You are my father,” she said. Her eyes roved down his quivering bicep, bulging under the exertion of his outrage.

“My Paighera,” Thor’s eyes shone radiantly as he beamed down at his daughter. He slowly lowered his weapon, thrust his arms wide.

Paige’s skin bristled with revulsion. She shook her head and treaded backward to swath herself in her lover’s arms, sighing at the reassuring solace Loki’s arms delivered.

He made her _strong._

He made her _unique._

Loki reveled at his Queen, nipped the corner of Paige’s ear. He relished in the subtle gasp that dared escaped her lips. He drew her closer still, his eyes keen on his imp of a brother. Thor’s lip quavered.

“You are not delighted to see me, child?” Thor said. “Your own blood…”

“You left her,” Loki said simply. “Abandoned her to a cruel, primeval world. You do not deserve her.”

Thor’s blue eyes flashed with lightning, blue skies obscured by dark, thunderous cloud.

Eir slinked forward, her sagely eyes resting on Thor. “Your highness, if I may—“

“The prophecy!” Thor bellowed, feasting the healer with a splice of his rage. “It was supposed to protect her!”

Eir lifted a brow. “Your mother warned of her return, and you did not care enough to listen. She is here now, and she is to be wed to your brother, hailer of mischief and foolery.”

“This is a mistake—Mother said—“

“That her visions had limitations,” Eir amended. “Queen Frigga could not foresee everything, your highness.”

“To which prophecy are you referring?” Loki asked, a curious lilt dancing along his words. Paige burrowed her head beneath his neck, reveling in the gratification it offered. Loki’s hand squeezed her lips, trickled along her clothed thigh.

Thor’s throat bore the direction of his thoughts, each vein throbbing with fury. Paige regarded her father timidly: Could she truly be the daughter of a god?

Eir waved a hand through the air, summoning a batch of golden inscribed words to appear before her. Paige’s eyes traced the words, allured by their seamless magic:

_To the descendant of gold, a child is born,_

_To a home of leisure and love of old,_

_And to his content, he should fall,_

_To the hands of a watered jewel._

_His sins shall be reaped by the lashing of time,_

_To the blood of thee be bathed in kin,_

_And intertwined to the soul of green._

_His heart will speak to her through the song of the Gods,_

_So she may bear the one that shall sever fate,_

_and decimate the tidings of Odin’s reign._

Paige’s eyes drifted to her stomach. _So she may bear the one that shall sever fate._ Her hand worried her collarbone, rubbing deep, fretful circles into her skin.

“That prophecy, I believe, was relayed to me a bit differently,” Loki mumbled icily. “How long did mother know of this, Thor? How long have you deceived me from my fate?”

“Your fate?” Thor said. “You dare speak of fate after I let you remain in our home, to rule beside me—“

“So you could ward me away from your precious spawn!” Loki raged, clutching Paige closer. “Who was the mortal, Thor? Surely, you could not lie to your beloved Jane?”

Thor’s cheek lit with red. “Not precisely…”

“The girl’s mother was not mortal,” Eir said, eyes settling on Paige with a certain softness. “She possessed a beauty like no other, and gifted with the agility of the Gods.”

“Let me guess,” Paige said dryly. “She was a swimmer?”

Thor took a sudden interest the ornate dressings of the courtroom, head inclined to the gold furnishings of his throne. Loki bereaved the room with a mighty sigh.

Eir’s fingers worried her gown. “Your mother was a siren, dear one,”

Loki appraised Thor with a look of repulsion. “Oh, for all of Hel—“

“You mated with a horse!” Thor whined. “You cannot presume to judge me!”

“Yes, you boisterous buffoon, but I took the guise _of a horse_! How could you be so foolish?”

“A siren is like a mermaid, right?” Paige inquired. “She could assume a human form?”

Eir’s brows pulled over her tawny eyes. “Sirens of our realm differ from that of the Greeks. Our sirens do not possess the ability to evolve into a more human form, only at the touch of a god can they assume the form of something other than a monster.”

“So, she is a monster? How—“

Eir’s hand meddled in the air, erasing the floating prophecy. In moments, the air burdened with the likeliness of a monster, hair consumed of golden serpents. A lone eye, threaded with black stood in the center of the creature’s scaled face. The creature’s tail stretched legions, threaded with the illustrations of death and greed—the tales of the men she enchanted.

Paige lifted a trembling hand to her cheek, sought the hollows beneath her eyes. “But with a God’s touch—“

“She would grow legs,” Eir said. “But the… image remains.”

Loki swiveled Paige in his arms to face him, his nose drifting along her cheeks, her chin. “Now, little love…”

Eir cleared her throat. “Your mother, while a Siren, was once a Midgardian enslaved to Asgard. We were not always such a diplomatic people.”

Loki and Thor shared a brief, humorless laugh.

“Nevertheless, she was cursed by Odin himself, for prompting his lust,” Eir said. “You mother was punished to the sea, her beauty forever marred. However, she was immortal, and your highness…” She gestured to Thor loosely, the story weaving itself in Paige’s mind.

“That doesn’t explain why I’m not like—like that,” Paige nodded to the image straddling the air.

The healer soothed her worries with a motherly warmth. “Why, Paighera, that was never your mother’s truest identity. Though sieged by the body of the sea, Regina held the soul of the Midgardian people. A god's touch would transform her to a mortal," Eir said. "Magic does not always taint the heart.”

“So, my mother… Is she alive?”

“Father sentenced her to death,” Thor said, his eyes hinted with longing. “It was the price to pay for conspiring against his reign.”

“And what about you?” Paige fumed, tearing herself from Loki’s arms and parading over to her father, eyes swirling with dark, forbidden clouds.

“I am a God, I am his son,” Thor admitted, looking down upon his kin. “He could not kill me—I did not know the prophecy until your birth.”

“But, my mother, she knew?”

Thor rattled his head gravely.

“So, she was ignorant to this prophecy and was killed? How fair is that?!” Paige threw her fists to the air. “She never would’ve left me, would she? _Would she?”_

“I fear not,” Thor whispered.

Thor lifted a hand to filter the hair from Paige’s face, to drift a lone finger across her skin. It was as though he were reliving a memory—his lips lifting with the slightest hint of fondness. When his eyes snagged on her collarbone, however his resolve darkened. He turned to glower at his brother. “You shall revoke this mark, and return Paighera home. You and I—we have much to discuss.”

Loki, eloquently fuming before the dais, made to speak, his thin lips parsing.

Eir laid a hand on his elbow, cast him a warding look. “Your highness, I fear that is not possible.”

 “NONSENSE!” Thor’s cries rattled the throne room, chandeliers swaying from the rafters.

“The prophecy has been told,” Eir said. “Their souls have bound as one. They are to be married in three days—“

“IF YOU THINK I WILL PERMIT SUCH A SINUOUS MATRIMONY—“

“—or Paighera will join her mother in Vahalla,” Eir spoke over the fuming god, tawny eyes dripping mirth. Thor’s shoulders trembled with rage, his forehead teeming with crimson. “I would advise that you declare such before the citizens of Asgard. I have already set to making the arrangements.”

With that, Eir swept from the room, settling Paige with a wink as she vanished.

***

Paige, after vehement protest, was confined to Loki’s chambers for the remainder of the evening. Outside her window she could detect the frantic murmurings of the people, mouths frothing from the days rumors. Paige rested her forehead against golden framework of the window sill, fought the insipid agony that bubbled in her throat.

Her mother—she never abandoned her. For all the years of sufferings, and foster homes—it was all a momentous mistake.  Her mother she—she would had loved Paige, soothed her aches, smear balm on her worries. The tremulous nights, the moments she rotted in her loneliness. Paige clawed at her dress.

She needed _relief._

Paige leapt from the window sill and tromped to the sealed door of Loki’s chambers. She knocked once, twice and Marian’s head peered through the doorway, a smile dressing her face. “Yes, m’lady?”

“Does Asgard have a pool, a lake, something?” She whispered, her words rushed.

Curiosity boiled in Marian’s eyes. “The springs, yes. They stretch through the northern part of the castle.”

“Can you lead me there?”

Marian folded her arms before her. “I was ordered to suit your needs here, m’lady. His highness demands—“

“Which highness, Marian? Thor?” Marian nodded sheepishly, her eyes probing the abandoned corridor outside Loki’s chambers. “Did he send guards?”

“No, m’lady.”

“Then, what’re we waiting for?” Paige interviewed her arm in Marian’s and skipped down the hall, a fretful Marian in tow.


	14. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a mere smut virgin, so I will leave this here for your criticisms.  
> Fire away!

Paige dipped her toes in the water, reveling in the cool, refreshing sensation. From where she stood, the springs stretched for miles: mossy patches traveled the length of the divination of water, glistening rocks built up the sides.

Paige sat on such a rock, ignoring the rigid, sharp edges that dugs into her thighs, her calves.

She supposed it was apt she loved water so much, considering her family history. Water was home, a soothing ointment to the dejection she endured over the rugged expanse of her life: never fitting in, an outcast.

Paige hefted herself up from the rock and pounced into the springs. As she fell, she heard Marian squeak her disapproval.

Under the water, Paige extended her arms and wafted amid the clear, shimmering depths. Her fingers skimmed the livery on the spring floor, smoothed her fingertips around the jagged rocks and ledges. Unable to fight the urge for air any longer, Paige emerged.

Paige sat in the water, feasted her eyes on her legs as the jived and brushed against one another. She imagined them melded together, doused in glistening, slimy scales.

 _How violated she must’ve felt._ Paige thought. _Thrust into a foreign land, robbed of her identity._

At least, though, he mother had the luxury of an identity, a home. She knew who she was, where she belonged. Of course, Paige knew her family—now. Yet, it did null to disguise the contempt that smarted about her pride.

“Hiding, are you?” A velvety voiced purred at Paige’s back. Paige turned to the springs’ edge, peered through the slinking rays of sunlight to discern the figure of her dashing professor. He ensnared her with a feral smile, lips pulling over his teeth. “You must endeavor to do better than that, pet.”

Paige sighed, traced a dripping finger along her collarbone. She jumped at the warmth of the affliction beneath her fingertips. Her gaze flew to her mark, eyes feigning over the glowing green serpents woven about her neck.

Loki’s eyes drew to Paige’s, arched a perfect eyebrow. “A mere locator spell—temporary, I assure you.”

“It’s not like I would ever leave you,” Paige said, pink dancing amid the hollows of her cheeks.

A ribbon of solemnity threaded through Loki’s eyes, the traditional spheres of green darkening with doubt. His smile dissipating, a glum sneer left it its stead.

“Indeed, winds are less binding than actions, little one. There is nowhere in the realms you could hide from me.”

_Why would I hide from the one person that wants me? My own dad neglects me—after seeing me for the first time in years! No one cares—he doesn’t care._

“Paige, my love,” Loki cooed, his words smoothing down her spine. “You must admonish your thoughts—“

Paige thrashed in the water, and drew her hands into fists, storming eyes fixing on her lover.

“What? Do they disturb you? Well, guess what: They’re eating me _alive!”_ She yelled. “All I want is to indulge this—this feral need tearing at my chest, this—this _hunger_ for—for _her._ All my life I was hidden, and shoved, and outcast and, all this time there was a father who I could’ve loved? Someone could’ve _loved me!”_

The skies around the springs heaved with the stench of rain, and thunder crackled in the distance. Around Paige, cyclones of water whirled, lifting the edges of her blonde hair. The serpents on her neck writhed and twirled, glowing along the white of her collarbone. They hissed at her rage, delighted in the acrid tang of her malice.

Loki observed from the mossy bank, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes settled on his pet, green orbs shining with enchantment—enchantment for the wonder that raged before him.

Paige saw the cyclones that reflected in his gazed and gasped, clutching her hands to her chest. She cried as the cyclones ceased, falling into the spring. Paige frenzied out of the water and collapsed at Loki’s feet, her face buried in her hands.

“Loki—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—“

“What a majestic creature you are,” Loki bent his knees, and seized Paige’s chin. With a gentle probing, Loki managed to settle her attentions on him, his figure looming over her trembling form. “Paige, my love, you ought not apologize for your passions—even at my rebuke. They enhance your power, define you as the Queen that you are—a Queen that shall rule.”

“I can’t rule,” she spat. “He doesn’t want me—I’m disposal to him.”

“I will only say this once, and you will listen,” His fingers dug into her chin, nails embedding in her skin. “I am the only matter of your affections, now— _me._ Your father, _the boisterous mendicant_ he is, is no concern of yours. You, my pet, _are mine.”_

Paige, seized by a foreign lust, launched her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, clenched teeth begging at his ear. “ _You_ promise? You won’t leave me?”

Loki’s eyes shone with excitement as he laid a hand against the small of Paige’s back, and thrust her against his chest. His robes shimmered with discarded drops of water, Paige’s essence drowning him entirely. “Never,” he sneered. “No God or creature that roams the nine realms shall seize you from me, little one. _Never._ ”

Paige thrashed against his lips, lifting her legs to clasp around Loki’s lithe waist. With each vicious clashing of teeth, Paige grew delirious. Her hands ground through his ebony tresses, dared to uproot the strands from their bearings. Her hips writhed against her abdomen, searing with desire, need.

Oh, to be closer—closer…  

It was Loki who broke their fervor, his lips shifting to devour the tender flesh of her collarbone. His tongue lilted across her skin, driven by an ancient lust. He grumbled against her neck.

“I fear, little one, that we have thrice days more,” he said, agony dripping from his words. “The prophecy beckons that we save more…” He withdrew from her neck, licked his lips. “ _Intimate_ affairs until we are wed.”

Paige fisted her hands at the billowing neck of his robe, chest heaving.

“No please,” she begged. “I _need_ you. _Now.”_

Loki’s pupils dilated as he visibly shook himself.

“We must refrain for now, pet,” His lips drew into a sinful grin. “Fear not, for when I do claim you… _You will scream my name.”_

“I’ll do it now, I’ll do anything,” Paige cried. “Let me show you—let me show you how I feel.”

Before Loki could muster a retort, Paige’s hand grappled at the surmountable bulge that impeded his trousers. She trailed a finger along the hem of his pants illustriously, drawing her lips to the corner of his ear. “ _Let me show you how I feel.”_

Loki cradled the hand at his groin, and pushed it closer. His eyes spoken of an unbidden dare, a challenge.

“You dare to satisfy a king?”

“Only my king,” Paige replied cheekily. She flexed her hand. Loki fought a delectable eye roll.

In a moment, Loki leaped to his feet. Green smoke billowed around his trousers, the material dissipating under its touch. In wake of the cloth was the divinity worthy of only a God.

Paige gulped, her former bravado shriveled under the sheer girth of his bulk.

“Why, pet,” Loki’s purred, eyes laced with mirth. “Is your king not enough for you?”

Paige jiggled her shoulders, set her jaw and settled on her knees.

_Alright, Sam, let’s hope I remember your tips._

Paige’s touched drifted along the underbelly of Loki’s girth, tracing the vein that throbbed along his gift. Her hands reached up to cradle his balls, fingertips threading through the divine tangling of ebony curls.

“I will make you a promise of my own,” Her blue eyes dared seek him from her beggar’s position. Loki suddenly jerked beneath her. Paige kissed the tip of his penis, drifted her lips lazily up the engorged beast. She trickled her tongue along his tip, popped it in his mouth.

Loki shivered. “Pet—“

“I will promise you wholly chaos,” she chanted, hand raking down Loki’s muscular thigh. “In whatever you do, wherever you go…”

A lick.

“I shall follow…”

Loki moaned.

“Any spell you utter, I shall revere…”

“Paige—“

“… and any kingdom you conquer, I shall be at your side.”

She took him in her mouth of moment, swirled her tongue about his length. By the time she released him, Loki’s eyes with enflamed with desire.

“Yet, best of all—you shall be my greatest King, the paramount key… For you, I shall set this realm to burn—every farm, every valley, every mountain, every stream—I will carry my torch, and burn all in your need. I will cleanse this kingdom for you, for me—and I will regain what was stolen from you, from me.

Her eyes me his deviously, her lips pent into a leer.

“I will _murder_ Thor.”

Unable to stand it any longer, Loki thrust himself into his lover’s mouth, each thrust pleasuring in her sultry, sinful words. In a few thrusts, the prince spilled, rivulets of white coating Paige throat, trickling down her chin.

Loki seized her in his arms, and thrust his face into the weeping tear in his bosom. When he dared glance at her, his eyes shone with adoration. His lips peppered her cheeks, his tongue lapped at his essence that drifted from her lips.

“Revenge,” he whispered, drawing her closer still. “… Shall be ours.”


	15. Fins

The next day, Paige found herself in the same springs. It was warmer now, bubbling. The lush sun beamed down on her shoulders, fondled her hair. It was as though she could feel it’s very fingertips threading through her tresses.

Instead of a dress, she adorned a loose golden shift, and a pair of shorts she uncovered. It felt so familiar: light clothing, brilliant sun and the soothing caress of water. It centered her, recovered her.

Her eyes slid to the mossy bank, cheeks warming at the memory of yesterday.

How foolish she’d been—attempting to pleasure a king, a God!

She scratched a nail along her collarbone, pursed her lips. _I’m an idiot._

Paige padded into the water and began to swirl to splice her body through the springs, each stroke measure, calculated. It was habitual, procedure. With each muscle she summoned to being, Paige grew faster, stronger, determined. In moments, Paige was as she’d always been in the water: formidable, powerful. Yet, there was something _different_ —primitive.

The water wore snug to her shoulders like a second skin, and soon, Paige disappeared beneath the water bed entirely. A few more strokes and she slowed, her legs burning with a keen, raging agony.

She stilled, bent to rub the cramp from her legs, and screamed.

Her legs, once smooth and tan, were devoured by a froth of green-black scales. They gleamed in the sun that glinted of the water, stirred beneath the bubbling springs. Her legs melded as one, a glossier fin replacing her feet, her toes.

_Get to the shore, and out of the water—if Aquamarine taught me anything…_

And so, she swam to shore and hefted herself onto the soft, caressing lure of the moss. She laid a moment, listened to the bubbling as the sun probed at her “fin”. She ran her hand across her torso, her “legs”, and withdrew a finger teaming with blood.

“I thought I sensed distress,” Eir said, shimmering into being at Paige’s side. She bent as her waist, mousy braids brushing Paige’s shoulder as the healer observed Paige’s predicament.

“I’m sorry,” Paige managed in a breathy voice. “I didn’t mean—“

“Royalty ought not apologize,” Eir advised. “The first changing wreaks havoc on the mortal body, I’m afraid. I shall have to keep you submerged in water in order to remedy your… uncanny state.”  

Paige eyed the blood about her waist hysterically. “This—this is normal?”

Eir sagely eyes drew to Paige, calmed her with a faint smile. “You have nothing to fear.”

***

“I brought you mead, your majesty, at Lady Eir’s behest.”

“Thanks,” Paige sighed, slithering a hand out of the bathing pool in Loki’s chambers. Water cascaded above her head, droplets skirting along her shoulders, her chest. Her eyes drew to the tail that flickered beneath her the water, swishing on its own accord.

Paige thrust the mead to her lips, took a long, heady sip. She raised the crystalline glass to her forehead, the mug cool against her skin.

“The ointment helps, your majesty?”

“Oh, quite, thank you,” Paige said, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “Makes me feel little more than a fish out of water.”

“If my eyes do not deceive me, you are much the fish in water at the moment,” Loki’s voice sauntered through the bathroom, prompting Paige to frantically squeeze the rim of her mug.

“Loki, I swear I didn’t know—“

“Hush, hush, little one,” Loki bent at his knees, his lips laying claim on the sandy waves atop Paige’s head. “How could you possibly predict such a thing?”

“This is so embarrassing,” Paige whispered and laid her cheek on Loki’s robed knee, blue eyes beseeching his. “Filet me and serve me to the palace for dinner.”

“And share such decadence?” Loki purred. “I think not.”

“Marian,” Loki called, snapping his head over his shoulder. “Ensure we are not disturbed.”

“Pardon me, my lord,” Marian stuttered, fussing with a stack of towels. “Lady Eir said Mistress Paige is not to be disturbed, for the healing, sir.”

“Eir does not dictate my actions,” Loki grit through his teeth, the leisurely green meadow of his eyes ravaged by a tremulous storm, dark cloud roiling within their depths. “Leave now, and seal the door to my chambers.”

“As you b-bid, my lord.” Marian fumbled out of the bathroom, the door quavering closed.

“You are so harsh,” Paige mumbled into his knee. “Marian’s a great person—you should get to know her.”

“I do not wish to mingle with inferior subjects,” Loki said and stood behind Paige. He maneuvered the velvet green robe off his shoulders, allowed it to shimmer to the tile. Paige eyes roved over the sculpted expanse of his chest, the divine trickling of hair that loitered between the defined V of his hips.

He chuckled, bent slightly, reached down to wrap a hand about his lover’s neck.

“Have your eyes feasted enough, little one?”

“I—I—“

Loki clicked his tongue. “I am yours, my queen. It is acceptable to gawk at what is rightfully yours to behold. _Your_ God.”

Paige blushed and moaned as her flexed his fingers against her throat, stepped deliciously into the pool. His feet tickled against her fin, evoking an airy sigh. He tucked himself into Paige’s side, unfurling his hand from her throat, and roving it over Paige’s fin.

“What an exquisite pet you make,” he purred. “I wonder, should I keep you as you are? A creature bound to my whim, caged within my very own suite? Always at arm’s reach, ceaselessly _ruled.”_

Loki lowered his mouth to smothered Paige’s breast with hot, intimate air. He flicked out his tongue, suckled her nipple. Paige’s hands embedded in his silky tresses, beckoned him forth.

“Such a beast I’ve created,” Loki mused, bestowing leisurely, languid kisses up her sternum, against the singing skin of her collarbone.

Paige sighed a laugh, possessed by desire. “You’ve saved me from uselessness—I’ll gladly become any beast to please you.”

Loki’s incisors probed Paige’s breast, his lips increasing their fervor. “Remember you words, little one. I shall endeavor to fulfil them.”


	16. Prelude

“Your majesty, you must allow me to tend to your legs,” Marian insisted, huddling after a retreating Paige. “Lady Eir commanded I proctor ointment upon the hour—“

“What’s the sense in application when I am obviously fine?” Paige snapped. “Look, Marian—I have a day until the wedding, my nerves are shot and I want a minute—just one small, small, _small—_ minute in peace.”

“I-If you insist, your majesty,” Marian said, a subdued pink coloring her cheeks. “I shall leave you.”

The maid made to turn away, fingers cradling a small shell of ointment.

The slightest twinge of guilt pierced Paige’s heart in watching her handmaiden retreat. Paige danced a finger along her collarbone, her lips drooped.

_Oh, maybe I was too harsh on her—she’s just trying to help me. More ointment couldn’t hurt—_

“You shall find royal life to be full of many sacrifices,” a brazen voice said beside her. “Privacy is the most paramount loss of all.”

Paige’s eyes trailed to the bulging silhouette on the wall opposite her, black weaving to construct a strong, supple figure. A shadow of a hammer dangled off one wrist.

“That almost sounds wise,” Paige said. “One could almost mistake you for royalty.”

“You’ve been here mere moments and you already speak as a Midguardian! It does me well to hear so!”

Thor clapped a hand to Paige’s shoulder. Her body quavered—from the brass movement itself or her inner rage, she couldn’t say..

Paige chuckled contritely.

“Maybe I’ve finally found my real home,” she spat.

Thor’s hand on her shoulder twitched, his voice developing a huskier tone: “You should not allow my brother to taint you with his debauched views. You are more than capable of developing your own.”

“Then you should take delight in knowing they are my thoughts, not his,” Paige said. “Funny how someone reacts to abandonment, right?”

“Paighera—“

Paige simply shrugged off his arm and shuffled down the hallway, desperate to find an escape. Due to her previous escapades, Paige was barred from water—at least until after the wedding. Paige scurried through the halls, embarking on an intricate spiral of stairs that would eventually lead her to a quaint, hidden library. The library itself was a surmountable feat: golden shelves brimming with books on every topic outside of human comprehension. Spells, tales, intergalactic meanderings—all records were subsequently prompted to life.

Paige’s fingers skimmed absently along a few titles, her eyes drawn to the velvet green draperies strewn in the corner, obscuring any semblance of light.

Paige’s fingers crept up a random spine, fastened on the binding and quickly withdrew it from the shelf. She made quick work of skimming the first few pages, fanning the book in her grasp.

The book—a divine entanglement of Norwegian myth—quickly captured her interests. Paige poised an elbow against a random bookshelf, rested her chin on her hand while her other hand ensnared the book, flipped the pages. She delighted in the distraction from her thoughts, her doubts.

On one page, Paige’s eyes roved over illustrations depicting an ancient wedding. Flowers threaded through the bride’s tresses, her shoulders bound in silk. How would she look in such attire? Could she capture the innocence expected of a bride?

Innocence? Hysterical.

Was she innocent in the capacity she was a virgin, yet still unwed? Certainly. Her mind, however, boasted of unspoken torture, evils.

Oh, the havoc she craved to inflict upon her father—the agony. He would surely meet his end, and Paige would deliver the final blow. For her mother—ever tortured, ever discarded by a family that wronged her—and for Loki—her beloved, her savior—she would exterminate Thor, and his meager legacy.

 _Loki…_ Could Paige survive the duties expected of her, beyond royal connotation? Falling to Loki’s charms was a precarious feat. His eyes—green, beseeching—roiled Paige’s doubts and hunger alike. Wrapped in his arms, Paige sought a more decadent, more sinful reality—one of deception and lust. Lust—the delectable urges the seized her innermost desires and awakened the creature she was truly mean to be.

 _A creature—a siren._ That was the embodiment of her mother, wasn’t it? The woman she never knew, never truly loved.

Paige’s fingers drifted over the maiden on the parchment. What if her mother would’ve married? Would she have looked so innocent, so lovely? If only she were given the chance, if only…

“I sincerely hope you are not now, when we are delectably close to our wedding, deciding on flowers,” Loki’s velvety voice slithered through her ears. “I am afraid your dear Marian would be most unnerved.”

A decadent shiver toyed about Paige’s spine, prompted by the lanky God that loomed behind her. Paige simply shook her head, shoulders stiff.

“Do my words not evoke the pleasure of your reply?” Loki merely chuckled, and clicked his tongue in disapproval. His fingers encapsulated her chin, diverted her attentions over her shoulder. Her cheek nestled against the prominent contours of his nose. He inhaled her scent, stirred her hair. “Disobedient so soon, little one?”

The slightest smile broke across Paige’s lips.

“It’s not a punishable offense, is it?”

“Oh, my Queen,” Loki purred. “ _Each_ breath you dare to breathe is privy to penance.”

Paige merely drifted into the solidarity of his arms, her head nuzzling into the cool hollow of his neck. She inhaled his scent—wintry blaze of pine, and meadows, and ice. Swathed in Loki’s arms was both a stroll through the grasses, and a blustery winter’s eve.

“My pet is most amorous today,” Loki mused. His eyes snagged on the book in her grasp. His mouth slid closer to her ear when he paused, a sneer smothering his lips.

Behind them, a door squealed. Loki clutched Paige closer.

“Y-Your highness, sir—“

“What is it, maid?” Loki snapped to the servant that lingered behind them. Paige clicked her tongue, and detangled herself from his arms. Her eyes traveled to the quivering mess of a maid behind them, offered her a simple, sweet quirk of her lips.

“Did you need something?”

“Y-Yes,” the maid’s eyes flickered uncertainly to Loki, clutching her palms to cease their shaking. “His highness has been summoned by the King.”

“The oaf,” he hissed and abruptly embraced Paige’s cheeks, his larg , lithe palms drifting along her skin. “A day more, my pet, and you shall truly be mine.”

He leaned closer, drew his cool lips to peck her nose.

“This is the last time my brother shall become between us.”

Searching his eyes, Paige fastened on the unbidden rage that roiled in their depths. Tremulous as waves, menacing as a beast—the beast her beloved surely was.

She smiled slyly, her own eyes twinkling.

“He never truly was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next... a wedding and the much anticipated wedding night!  
> May the powers of smut be with me!


End file.
